Photo by Thomas Charters on Unsplash

On holiday in Norfolk,
My daughter and I
Waited for the bus
In tiny Leatheringset.
Standing beside
A sprig of a woman,
Whose eyes were merry beads,
As she greeted us.

Her hands, with cords
That threatened to break through
The yellow parchment skin,
Tightened on her umbrella
As she heard our voices
With accents different
Than her own.

She stretched her neck searching
For salvation, the bus.
She sighed and met our eyes again,
Her expression turned defiant.
She wondered why we carried no umbrella.

She remarked on the new extremes
Of climate, wind and cold and drought.
Told us the rain was heavier than ever.
Informed us of her certain knowledge
That foreigners had rude intentions,
Illustrated by their manipulation
Of English wealther.

January 2002