Driving Home

A marauding sky creeps over the skyline
Dramatising the moorland ridge;
Silver- fingered branches
Steal the show
As their naked forms
Stand sentinel on the banks;
The moss - green of the holly
Boasts proudly against the
Impending darkness;
Sharply focused
The eye is drawn
To the silver lane snaking the homeward mile
As the moor vanishes
Blotted out
And heavy drops
Land on the windscreen
Dispersing sideways.
And the rhythmic beating
Begins.

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