.

The great beech trees are roaring, winter-bare in gardens. A man and a woman hurry across the road, expectant in the gusting wind. Beside the narrow footpath a shaggy bush is tossed about. The railway lines are dead and still; a cat slips under the razor fence into brambles; a magpie with its long tail flies intently, straight and true. Two men fail to exchange greetings. And the sun sets, dazzling on banks of cloud.

bin bag

in the gutter

spilled CD’s