By Emma Woodford
Flat canal fog,
disappearing trees line
adroitly planted paths.
Water flows coal barges
float, with cars parked.
The train glides, buildings
grow gravel patches
spread like butterflies.
Roads pass ponds with
corner herons standing,
are they watching
fish or waiting
for the sun.
November days passing,
greyly lit winter,
curling comfort Christmas
still to come.
