Janey...
After the full moon
gulls hunt insects in the slates
heralding their finds
Beverley...
Countless glistening cobwebs hang on empty seedheads and faded grasses. Morning mist makes ghosts of trees.
Helen...
Acer leaves fall and lie like tiny stars, red, yellow and gold.
Kit...
Up from the barely dressed birch copse, a quiver of forge-fresh crows fly into the greymilk sky
No comments:
Post a Comment