A clatter of broken wings.
A cascade of paperbacks.
My picture fallen on the carpet.
Old ornaments knocked off the mantelpiece,
Also on the carpet.
February is not my favourite month.
I do not think there was an earthquake overnight.
A sudden wind blowing through crevices
Too narrow for a moths wing to penetrate
May have been the culprit.
This morning the mayhem was emphatic.
This morning even points of daffodil spears
Look out of place in the wind torn garden.
February is not my favourite month,
But it will soon be passing:
A child`s hand waving farewell from a window
Open to the sun.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter,
February 7th. 2022.
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