Quick bit of poetry from the summer that wasn't right and wasn't right, and then improved when I let go of it a bit. Sitting in this lovely, tiny cove in Wales in August when it should have been sweltering, but was actually simultaneously hot, cold and windy.
Hot winds jut against slant slate crops,
Against the sea's surge inward, into the cove,
A swarm of sand scours people from the beach,
And sun umbrellas tumble cowering to hide.
Kites shred into the sky against ragged clouds,
As the sun beats an early rhythm out against sea and slate.
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