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

In the aftermath

a riot of birds debate

rebuilding their nests

The first day of spring

thrush sings the melody to

riotous chorus

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

Hanging by a thread

traversing from web to web

a silken route map

Blazing red and gold

the morning sky promises

new frustrations

Words of an old song

and melody awaken

memories of love