At the Top of the Hill

By Ian Copestick

As I stand at the top of the hill
I gaze down onto a blanket of
orange street lamps, mixing in
with the deep, dark purple sky.
It’s a strange time, spring is
knocking at the door, but winter
is dragging it’s heels. Holding
on with storms Ciara and Dennis, battering us with rain,
hail and snow. High speed winds
wrecking all in their path. Yet,
we’ve had some beautiful days
with sun and blue skies.
So I wait at the top of the hill
knowing that nothing I say or
do will make any difference. In
fact it  doesn’t matter at all.