I sit staring at the sea, in one of many shelters,
beneath a bruised and sulking sky.
Its image blurred by white noise and static, as the rain begins,
the child beginning to cry.

And then it begins from the gutter!
Whimsically I search for drops, like the dripping of a tap,
before glistening“swathes”of shiny shingle, to calm sea,
oblivious to its soothing lap.

I quietly wonder of this moment pure,
the grey beckoning, gentle whispers”obey”
allay you fears, for the rain are not tears,
while you dream of a sunny day.

For above the grey a sun awaits, as it does always,
that no charcoal“smear”could smother!
Its a beautiful day, for all days are,
so “collar  up” I stroll to another.