Thick grey cloud hangs low on the not so distant horizon hill,
Bobbled with trees, like a grey wool jumper worn many times.
The sliver of white that outlines the bobbled hilltop is disappearing at a speed from the centre out. As the sky meets the land, fields and trees all merge into one grey mass. Seen though this scruffy window it is an old black and white photo found under the floorboards of an almost unremembered time and place, once a powerful evocation of flooding memories to someone else.
More to the foreground in the bottom left corner of the window, the thick and united winds makes it seem like I’m looking out to sea.
Stepping closer to the window a dull half varnished wooden fence with three empty trellises comes into the frame obscuring the valley view.
With one more step I am against the sill. The green mowed-last-month grass splices the lower frame; wet and quivering below the solid unforgiving ineffective shelter of the barren panelled fencing. I hear a buzzing; the mobile fussing and flashing behind me on the table telling me it’s time to go get the train.