3rd floor in Kirkwall

Sky sweeps from blue
to bruise
via rainbow.
Wind crashes like an accident
across the angled roofs.

West versus east, forecast versus actuality:

Woken by the horizontal howling

chill slicing the summer pudding of my dream

(eaten warm but ingredients anonymous)

I am surprised by the golden blue of sunrise

when I had anticipated grey rain.

On my way to buy a morning paper #70

Loose clothes, windblown
give me a cartoon-frightened shadow.

On my way to buy a morning paper #63 (Recycling day)

Milk cartons conducting covert operations
scurrying from hedge to hedge.

Yesterday's galeforce wind

Thistledown:
several seemingly scheduled performances
dancing dervish
on the kitchen windowsill.

From my window

The once south-blowing rectangle
of the green binsack in the tree across the road
has, after four days battling with the elements,
become north-bound three-strand, pennant,
fancy-knotted to the top-most branch.