It’s a hard frost today: ear-stinging cold and hoar-crust crunching underfoot. And the strings of Spring lights stutter down the street, beckon me towards the lantern show. There, bare branches spread their ungloved hands, lift famished fingers, supplicant: purse, point up, stroke the sky, touch rooftops. I stand for a moment, hands poised to applaud. Then the morning moves me on.
Monday, 18 February 2008
Lantern Show
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment