Over My Head

Before the storm started up, something reminiscent of a hand mirror shone in the sky: sat in a dip of salmon coloured cloud, too still for a satellite, it could have been a star. Between the star and the pending storm, the river geese are set a-flap. An apex of them echoes our roof, turns back to the river.
Lively improvising wind devises trumpety old car horn noises from the forgotten tv aerial: gets a round of applause, after I stop looking for the old car altercation. From the window also see dead branches on the fat trunked ash, dangerously reanimated. Takes my mind off the trouble I'm having with hyperlinks. Every step on the list- ticked. Works fine until I upload it- is lost in translation. Again! Stormy words and childish renunciations- this is stupid, like everything is when you can't understand it.
After work, waiting for Mr, I stand in the shivery wind, on pitchblacked tarmac. Everything is rain drenched, except the rustle of leaves above; internal desiccation makes them dry in any weather. Turn my eyes up to the bronze paper leaves of the car park beech. 


Geo. said…
Beautiful situational poetry! And I like your top --my wife wears one of much the same decorative print.
Lisa Southard said…
Hard to wear a smock and not be creative :-) Thank you Geo!
unikorna said…
Hi Lily you are beautiful, just as beautiful as your words, I simply adore your discourse :). So lovely to hear from you again :).
klahanie said…
Hi Lily,

Such wondrous articulation in your words. I sense such magic in your writing as your fingers danced upon the keyboard to share such thoughtful musings. I thank you for this.

Kind wishes, Gary
Lisa Southard said…
You are all so lovely- thank you, thank you so much :-) xx

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