Cold, grey and damp
There are geese calling
On the soaking meadow
Low cloud is hushing the hills.
Northeasterly air
moves over the moor
Pulling softly at the mist
Tearing it quietly,
like soft cotton pulled apart
A whisper of blue
Through a break in the cloud
A hint of rose
on the edge of the tear
And lightness threatens to arrive
#CoSopoetry