Our lives, the film and the colours it would be,
from white to vivid technicolor and the whole palette
in-between.
Those days when the sky was a flat grey,
no lights to seek out depth in pavement
or highlight the grains of variation in the red
and orange brick behind
the sharp edged privet hedges.
Our window looms,;
a black square as we push the gate open on it's tight spring.
Only the faded pastels of the Hydrangea's dried out flower heads
lend a gentle tone to soften the suburban chill
of a late November afternoon.
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