Finsbury Park

Bitter cold, biting my fingers
dark looming clouds threaten to burst
scatterings of white against the green
bristling against my skin.

Specks of sleet stain my page
ink slides down, halting at the crease.
Cold envelopes me, numbing senses
the trees bare willowing above.

Small light streaming through clouds
far off over high rise flats
a stark contrast against the gray.
The misery.
The bitter cold.

Biting my fingers. Ice droplets
floating onto my words.
Hands numb. Mind hardening.
Softly, softly move overhead.

Sun shatters on through.