Breath of fresh air.

I want a walk

to breathe in fresh air

days after day

grey skies dominate

watching from inside

rain follows storm.

Crossing the field

soaking my boots

to stand by the confluence

in ankle deep oak leaves

soggy brown dead forms

of a season that's passed.

The rivers run caramel

smooth brown so full

creating energy

rolling then splashing

flowing further, journeying

over then over, over and over.

Bushes hang lowly

dripping pathetically

raindrops falling again

bedraggled wet.

I scurry home

to a dry cosy house.

I went out for a breath of fresh air.