Monday and I finally see the clouds are breaking, letting bare the sun upon this garden sown with roses black and glassy, making shadows of their stalks that don’t betray a thorn. Tuesday and the drops of rain evaporate from blades of grass that took their fill too early so that now they cannot drink. Wednesday and a clap of thunder much too far away collapses silent where the sunset bleeds its golden heat and lulls the weather into fantasies tomorrow won’t demur. Thursday and the wind is forced to howl even louder so the sapless trees might hear. Friday and their leaves are thin and brittle, cured beneath the sun they drank when rain was plenty but when laying branches out for warmer weather was preferred. Saturday and worms won’t eat the apples on the orchard’s soil, ripened well before their time and saccharin with spoilage seeded in the need to grow them sweeter. Sunday and the flower petals crumble when I pick them now, and still somehow I wish for warmth to work the week that comes.

#london #UK

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