An autumn stroll along the prom

Autumn silhouettes are smudged
As angry clouds with silver linings
Engulf a lemon sun

Citrus beams explode into a dusty sky
And battle then is joined as sun and clouds
Contend for domination of this theatre

Spirits fall and rise unconsciously
As players read their lines regardless
Not acknowledging the shroud
But heedful of the wavering light

But then the clouds concede
Compelled by winds that move them on
The sun, in hubris, slights the winds
It will not share its glory, not with anyone

And so the faces of the players fade
Their silhouettes once more
Engraved into the salmon stage

A note

I wrote this walking along Morecambe Promenade on an early autumn afternoon. The effect was heightened because my glasses go dark in the sun.

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