White egrets

Dawn broke fast the colour of grapefruit that my grandfather ate. A white needle forges through dense washed out blue, drifts twists and curls back to vapour. For a second I heard a grassy corner swelling with spring birds singing, a refracting inversion.

Great lakes of the sky chase the globe southeastward dragging in their wake the sounds of grey, a leaky tent to dampen the radiance of a Turner sky. These washed out battleships glow at their evaporating edges then submerge to leave 2 flapping egrets silhouetted in lack of light.