From The Ink Pods, Podcast for The Blue Nib.
It must have just stopped raining
When we arrived. The road, licked for hours
By the quiet slap of countless passing tyres,
Gleamed blackly under the streetlamps
Like wet liquorice. We sat for a moment
Watching the mist descend
Cobwebbing the edges of trees and hedges,
The silver turning of a leaf in the damp air,
And the tenting of the telegraph wires
Carrying beads of water like fairy lights
Backlit by the moon.
Feeling privileged to witness
This heady scene, we realised
(as car doors slammed and gravel crunched)
That our reason for having driven here
Was, for a moment, quite forgotten.
