Sunday 6th May
.
Crawling up from the sea
Slow, grey fingers of mist
Now shrouding the beach
All day long, did persist
.
Sneaking through the trees
The nebulous, wispy veil
Excluding the sun’s warmth
Picnic plans must curtail
.
Thinking of you
Precious Angel son
xxxxxx

The harbour is down there somewhere

Mist billowing through the trees

Devoid of colour