Rainy day

Clouds keep light dull all day, 

hanging in the sky like bulking, bulging, unshapely fists curled tight and packed against one another, bleeding onto pavements, creating shining slabs of stone,

causing reflections of headlights to play long over tarmac. 

The river flows with a rapid intensity, 

water so high you could bend down and touch it.
On a vast tree that sits on an island,

cormorants gather in branches, tucking their heads in; blackened parrots.
The trees silhouette' a claw that grasps at something intangible. 
 

Figures walking, look only like Lowry's, each indistinguishable from the next.
Hooded or huddled beneath umbrellas. 

So dark is the day that everything could be anything.

Clouds could be smoke, cars could be carriages. 

My trousers are soaking from the knee down, where my long waterproof jacket stops. 

Feet causing splashes with every step. 

And in all this angry weather,

in this busy, sprawling city where people pace

and space is at a premium,

every light in a pub I pass or steamy, condensation clouded window of a local cafe beckons like a lantern. 

It might sound cold. Or harsh. 

But it is warm. Imbued with history and a story of millions of feet that have walked before through these rain doused streets. 

On a day like today, this city holds even more.

Gives even more.