I am walking in the infralittoral zone
between day and night, between winter and summer.
The northern horizon is not sure it's still blue
as a bloody brown tide of cloud advances.
All the young trees are like kelp in a flood
trying to escape the rushing south wind.
More leaves than branch, unready for summer,
They're panicking over their drowned blossoms.
A patchwork of flagstones, no two alike,
kaleidoscopes greys with beiges and white.
Soon every colour will submit to shadow.
Green places will have hollows instilled.
Daisies and dandelions will close their eyes,
and streetlights will stand sentry till dawn.