Looking through the wet window, sadness has settled in, a certain beauty awaits, breathes, waiting for the good weather, listening time making noise, the room has been almost emptied , forced to murmur to avoid being spied on,
on the uneven stones
the past comes back
all of the cold birds
cutting the wet and grey sky
of the changing climate
In Tenby’s port, December 2018, canon, ©Sylvie Gé
Smile clockwise, like it is Tuesday, like it is greyer than the feelings camouflaged in your winter plumage.