White days of rain and cloud
make this a strange autumn.
Sometimes they warm
suddenly in the afternoon.
Then we remember what autumn is,
the most beautiful season.
Always the most beautiful,
I would have said, until now.
Where are the mellow, golden days,
the blue, spreading heavens?
Even the sea is pale, greyed,
and the drab river less than silver.
At night the storms come, loud
with thunderous downpours.
We move into April
as if into a strange landscape.
The trees and hills become
unrecognisable, distorted by water.
April PAD Challenge 2
Prompt: a water poem
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