Will Be Summer Again

It hasn’t rained for days, the last band
of misty cloud fled East whimpering –
blotting out the sun in an afternoon of
doubt before the cold again invades,

seeping out of ruthless blue, promising
nothing; a barren landscape chilled with
icy air in silence, clear as the soundless
beat of bird-wings seeking trees touched

by the rays of a benighted sun, ears burnt
in a rare dissonance aware of blood-heat
radiating into an atmosphere of larceny.
We watch wisps of woodsmoke gently

dissipate from a flue which heats our
home – three months, you say, three
months and it will be Summer again...
© 19 July 2007, I.D. Carswell