Rain shakes out of the wind
whipping grit and grass,
slicing trees in slow-motion
monochrome that cuts to
a long shot overhead
of the dog running,
raking snow-patches on the path
curling out of sight on the hill,
as shouts sound off to one side, fading.
From a Siege Journal
The only way in and out
was across the frozen lake
but word slipped back, of laden trucks
that cracked the ice and dropped,
slow images, replayed in grainy dreams:
a freight of flour or seeds or children,
drifted and sinking, gone to the silt,
stones and swaying weeds.
Ray Templeton is a writer and musician who was born and grew up in Scotland, lived briefly in Wales, then moved to the south of England where he has lived ever since, married to an Irishwoman.