The wind is a fractious child

We're in the Midlands at a fishing festival.  At least, my husband is at the festival. I'm enjoying the warmth of late summer, reading, writing, sharing poems.  


The wind chases across the surface of the lake,
Dances through the line of forgiving willows,
Lifts the corner of my page,
Steals the warmth from my skin. 
The wind is a fractious child,
Demanding full attention
Before moving on to the next thing. 
© Copyright 2026. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

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