Thursday, late August,

I can smell the rain.

At last -

The cold.

The day is at rest,

The clouds roll in

Shadows of black and blue,

Voyagers of the sky.

The currents move,

My home still.

A day of cleaning and order,

Children dreaming, the kettle boiled -

Decafe.

The porcelian shipwreck,

One tap, and then the other.

Salts of the sea,

Waves of bubbles.

Tea by the light,

Old book with a broken spine.

Pages gone yellow,

Words dance off

Onto amber walls.

I lay still,

Mind moving.

Rumbling thunder,

Shakes the light.

Stream rises unmatched,

Turning fair to red.

Ether and comfort,

Amniotic darkness.

A witch of the water,

One who dreams

Under the New Moon.

Manifest -

Rest thy soul,

Balance the mind,

Energy in motion.

Silence within,

Harmonises -

Branches of Willow

Slaps the panes -

The rain with it.

Delicate, yet powerful.

Inimate and unique,

The night is here.

Finally -

Breathe.

Fingers wrinkling,

Lips dry

Hair soaked and tangled

Skin fresh - clean.

Ritual complete.

Fresh sheets.

Farewell dear August,

Autumn will fall

Until again.

Tomorrow will arrive,

And yet will never come.

The same day.

Over.

Thursday evenings.