I am often here. Outside
the small cafe. When it
rains I like to watch light
dancing across cobbles
and over grass before it
slips into the waiting grey.
This is where it all gets out
of hand. The place where
things lose any pretence of
containment. A place where
anything goes and is unlikely
to return in three score years.
Outside the small cafe it rains.
The waiting grey is calling over
grass and cold cobbles.Calling
light down from vacated tables.
It’s promise of blue skies where
it leaves land behind is untested.
Tony Noon
Oct 17, 2025
Oct 17, 2025 at 3:12 PM UTC
I am often here. Outside
the small cafe. When it
rains I like to watch light
dancing across cobbles
and over grass before it
slips into the waiting grey.
This is where it all gets out
of hand. The place where
things lose any pretence of
containment. A place where
anything goes and is unlikely
to return in three score years.
Outside the small cafe it rains.
The waiting grey is calling over
grass and cold cobbles.Calling
light down from vacated tables.
It’s promise of blue skies where
it leaves land behind is untested.
Tony Noon
