We wander through the park, not wanting to part but knowing this is the last meeting. Love and the office are a lethal mix.
Around the curve of a hedge I halt, bathed in a glaze of emerald glass
the still lake
Suddenly ducks swoop down, ripple the lake, quack, flutter. Some waddle up the muddy shoreline, brown bodies all angles. A cloying smell of old bedraggled feathers and mould surrounds us.
I sigh, turn away…walk on alone.
Late that night as the heat of day subsides to a warm milkiness, I write the resignation letter.
a drift of cloud
across the moon...