Pair of Gloves

Passing Storms

I watched as the sun was replaced
By a bank of cloud draining the
Colour from both land and sea.
Heavy storm clouds turning the
Sky the colour of old lead.

Seeing the uniform greyness of
Sea and sky, as purple clouds
Gathered on the horizon, giving
The sky a rather bruised impression,
Turning the sea into a dark, oily swell.

Later a small blue chink in the
Muffling thickness of the clouds,
The sun illuminating with the
Soft golden light of a new dawn,
Boats bob skittishly on ruffled water.

The sea now gently washing the shore
Before slipping back with a gentle sigh.
The sun sparkles, glitters on a flat calm sea,
Gems of light created by the playful water
Reflecting its joy of a passing storm.

The soft slap of the sea against the rocks,
The soft sigh of withdrawal familiar,
Infinitely soothing. The melancholic
Seagulls calling sadly across the waves.
Nature’s balance once more restored.