Throwing A Long Line Anthony Wade

Throwing A Long Line

Watching at the window on a wet day in late October I think to see the invisible wind in the inflated sheets of grey rain fronting the gusts like full sheeny sails, a fairy flotilla sailing the waters streaming over the black tar that now smothers the old pathway, a dismal day indeed with the nearly naked ash vainly hiding its bony bareness behind the still modestly dressed oak, yet among the greyed beech, and a blanched birch, there is the luminous warmth of the bones of a misplaced acer gifted heedlessly by a long passing bird, and the brightness of berries clustered amid barbed blackthorns, colours that throw a long line of hope to the seasons of sun waiting beyond the bleakness of winter nearing.

Anthony Wade

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