SHORT DULL DAYS
When the Christmas lights are stowed away
secure for the summering months ahead
we traverse the counties’ winding lanes
greasy in their dankest, darkest bed.
Verges blurred and drawn by dragging rain
tramp their liquid mud for miles ahead.
Distance is stolen by fog’s murmuration
rolling and churning, obscuring the vapid mist
painting the fields with wettest stagnation
damp scratching hedges, trees dribble and lisp.
A slow fall of rain of lazy condensation
heaven and earth’s damp conversation.
Skies lank and heavy suppressing the heart.
Fields bear the weight of the stalling of time,
Snowdrops submerged await their part.
Frosts few and bright declining to shine
Trees free of dormancy, a sickness of heart.
These are times before hope lifts our souls
short dull days, darkest of nights.
Days of grey limbo, lives on hold
Short, dull days, darkest of nights.
12 January 2022.
11:00 a.m. – 3:42 a.m. Moon 77% waxing.
Drab, dreary day. ©TMPearce 2022.