Scattered sunbeams pierce through
clouds of grey, the clothes wave
a friendly hello on the line to
passers by as sheep graze gently
in verdant fields.
The sea hangs on the horizon
and I remember a time when it called
to me, before the clouds,
before the cities began to
encroach on the trees, before
the world became concrete.
The air feels lighter in the
bright afternoon, perhaps hope
hangs in that sky too. Leave
the brutalist bastions and
return to what was once a dream.