Poetry

An evening stroll

We have our cast of characters now; moorhens, geese, gatekeepers, holly blues. There, a twitch of whisker, a puff of white cotton-tail. The wind bending the rushes with a twist of its little finger. Can you feel the scene being set? The water ripples as a pair of ducks land. A mouse runs across my boot and moths fly up as I shake their precious hiding places with my clumsy tread. Light gleams over, giving my hair fire. My cheeks are pinched red as evening sets in.