At first light the mist moves quietly

In a straggle of smoke and colour

From black to grey, smooth, unburduned

With a shudder of traffic light sighs.

A magpie strides in the background

Of an empty garden,

It starts to rain

Free form: a warning

Of the storm to come.

Branches crackle on the cool wind

When all air surges upward

And sunlight is an offer

To be admired, then forgotten.