A name from the North

A day as grey as

the clouds above it

And the hills, which have changed from green to orange to purple to a deepest blue in the fading light

with a few bursts of yellow from the beech trees, holding on in their marcescence

If life is full of the little things

like skating on smooth black ice and laughing with a friend

then I have nothing to look forward to

because there is good in every day.

Dear Mother, 

I have missed you these past few months. 

Where did you go? 

I see you standing there, torch held high, yet you do not answer my calls.