the blue sky sprinkled
with sun-filled clouds—
         crescent moon

twilight...
in a mackerel sky
a band of gold light

moon vigil―just
after eleven it’s there
full and bright

Christmas rush—
in the road a pair of trainers
                    pointing
in different directions

long shadows...
against the skyline
the yellow of broom

whisper of wind...
a plastic bag trickles
around the courtyard

minicab ride…
bursting from the verge
a yellowhammer