A story.

Sunday


In the morning the thunder is still there,
rolling around the distant sky.
A dull, clammy day of downpours, 
the lake a soft sheen of grey like a heron's back.

1 comment:

Circe said...

what a happy thing to find this moody new place of yours... it seems the last time I visited you, it was also a thunderstorm here, and I was benefitted then, too, by the gilding of your graphite brushstrokes on a favorite atmospheric happening.

how lovely. wishing you very well.