On a cold grey balcony
on a cold grey afternoon
sitting snuggly, on
the edge of chill –
with a new grey
and a cup of earl grey tea,
a breeze for a second
took my attention from reading.
The tea’s paper tag
‘black tea’ it announced
fluttered in this breeze
on a white window.
The air still and colourless
but grey at its depth –
white and black
all shift to grey –
as I sat back,
reading my book of
short stories.
The briefest of moments
just then captured me
and the slightest of breezes
moved me to think
moved my environment,
The fine hairs on my cheeks;
I felt its freshness
its message.
I was alive.



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