movement

Just after the children left for their mum’s I went out for a walk. I had watched the wet sleety blobs of weather blow acutely across my living room window from the sofa, so I tried to time my walk between the showers drag-netting across the city.
 
I went my usual way. Down at the river the Clyde was extremely high and wave rocked. Gulls wing-tacked against the strong wind, gliding over the giddy sway of the water.  The sun broke through low and brief, dazzling off the river. An emergency helicopter suddenly climbed and chopped the air down river. I watched its path as it crossed the contrail of a high altitude plane westward bound. Movement.
 
I make a move myself and almost get home before the hail to sleet to rain catches me out. I feel refreshed though. Sometimes I just need to move, try a walking cure. Make a move, find the poetry of the day out there in footsteps.
 
 As I approach the flat I look across to the south where there is an apartment tower. Behind it, building to another watershed, is a colossus of cloud. I feel the approach of its weather, and an idea of changing states. The sky soaks to the street runs to the river. Change. A new flat on Monday, a New Year just beginning. Time to move.

The gulls ride the air above the rippling water.
 
Onwards.