On waking I would stretch then listen to clues while hoping in the curtained room the light blinded out for sleeping there was a life outside wind creaking white facia boards kamikaze rain drops dying relentless suicides of mass precipitation.
Even a blanketed sky gives a sliver of ragged silver illumination light bending through cracks tortured reflections on dulled walls peephole tears and ill fitting slats of wood that have lost symmetry conspiring with the light throwing patterns of perseverance.
Each day imitated the other crying in sodden impersonations pooling the pain in low points flooding untilled earth to reflect the grey heavens depressed results of depressions from the west the daily saturation overflow drowning our hopes with the source of life.
Ciaran Burke
AUTHOR
Ciaran Burke
Social entrepreneur, horticulturist, educator. Photographer, poet, artist and not a bad cook either!
