Cold ride

Edinburgh to Linlithgow, along the canal side
Grey, windy and wet, with new cycling shorts chafing
it felt like an effort, no thought, no flow, just a cold cold ride
reluctant to stop, it felt like a forlorn November,
not mid-summer almost

newly-borrowed camera hesitant in frozen hands

the only colour was the fair-ground I passed at Broxburn,
blazing, lurid, blaring
startling in the damp, drizzled flatness

I hurried on, looking forward to catching a warm train.