I could see the moon from the road, big and round, the darkest depths moon this one is called, last one before the solstice. The night was still blue black and the moon, white and grey and only a slight squash off full, was patterned with cloud. As I drove the night gradually weakened and black turned to blue turned to yellow turned to white. I parked up and I turned down the canal, looking for the moon.
It was cold enough to make my skin tight, my nose hurt, my shins and shoulders traced with shivers. The greenery on the banks was thinner, more leaves lost, but the brambles beside the path were still glossy green with morning dew. I found the moon, then, in a gap beside tall skyward reaching skeletons that had once been thick and green. It wasn’t so bright now, against a haze of gentle yellow and pink, more like a hole punch out of a paper sky. To the other side of me there was a glowing line of gold cloud above the horizon. Quickly, the line of light flared up, turned red. The sun appeared.
I detoured to watch it rise over the lake, sending twelve ducks gliding away from the bank side vegetation. The Vs of their wakes stood out dark against the water as it took on the colour of the sun. I kept walking, moon on my right, sun on my left. There were no egrets in the hidden pond where I’ve come to expect them, but I saw a cormorant glide overhead then land with two friends in a high branch. The gravel path was rutted and after all the rain the puddles had stretched to fill the road, forcing me to squeeze round the edges, catching myself twice in the brambles. Here, though, the river was topped with the tiniest skin of floating ice, hardly solid, but skating in sinuous patterns with the slow flow. Above the water, low mist hung, as if this part of the river was only just waking up.
Bon this was amazing awesome brilliant
I loved reading it I almost thought I was with you as well keep going sis xxx