The Bench

There doesn’t seem
to be a glimmer,
No sun to be seen.
It’s hidden high,
Hiding Nigh
beyond the gathering
overcast .

My lonely dockside bench
Side-casts a looming shadow
upon the slaking slats,
As if waiting,
On guard
against the choppy,

It’s at these moments
of intersecting time and space,
Of place celestial yet earthbound.
Evolving atmospheres,
cluttering cloudy
brew-pot of storms,

Week 37 Storytelling: Seasons
The weather is changing! Find inspiration in the seasons.Great photographers can tell a story with an image.

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