Raunacht Collection: Day 07
One of those nearsighted days,
During which I pull the grey light around me.
A blanket of distortion.
There is no discernable horizon,
Just a gradual thickening of dreariness,
Until even the blurred silhouettes of trees disappear into the nothing of this day.
Time is on hold.
Indeed the proud buzzards sit on the ground.
Watching mole-holes, soaked feathers drooping, talons dulled by mud.
I study hula hoop waves dancing across mawkit puddles.
Until the rain grows too heavy,
And recoil destroys the circular serenity.
Dullness has piled into darkness now.
I switch on the light.
And all I see is the reflection of me in the French windows.
Poetry by Nathalie 