In tetchy or in

cranky mood I fight my way

through fragmenting clouds

This hour of the day

is mine alone for quiet thought,

still personal space

Once in times gone by

when the working week was done

happy Friday club

a small piece of fluff

shines golden in the sunlight

dancing on a thread

In the aftermath

a riot of birds debate

rebuilding their nests

The first day of spring

thrush sings the melody to

riotous chorus

when connection breaks

stumbling around in the dark

searching for a friend

as storms chase the moon,

whipping trees relentlessly

a small baby sleeps

Leaping on my bed

the dog stretches and yawns and

smiles with toothy grin

Dark webs cluster round

and paths are scantily lit

virtual journey