Wet Wednesday in Wakefield
The blazing embers of a winter sun
sink below the distant horizon,
as streetlights claim approaching night.
A solitary shopper treads the rain-sheened pavement,
hunched against the evening chill.
The drizzle has stopped for now,
promising to return, reinvigorated,
from the covering cloud
that attempts to veil the sunset.
Hands in pockets, hair bedraggled,
our traveller longs for the warmth
of a home that is still some way off.
A glance skywards suggests the rain will come
before he reaches his sanctuary.
With a metaphorical shrug, he quickens his step,
suspecting it to be in vain.
Then this realisation hits him, and he slows his pace again,
accepting the stark inevitability.