High Street

As if it were us the day were hauling
so painfully in the early hours of the morning,
as if the day labored in us
more even than in the fog, and breeze
which shakes the leaves
and sweeps a light of pigeons across the whole sky
could not revive the landscape in us
still vowed to darkness and petrification,
and beyond the panes the world
is merely a heavy grey burden
which we have to shoulder and carry
tripping on every obstacle
eyes turned from the sky and open spaces.


The Day's Labor, by Paul De Roux


Honestly, I normally circumvent this stretch of road during my morning commute, but on this particular foggy Monday I decided to "embrace the suck," as they say, and headed straight through the mess and on to work. It wasn't the worst of days, but I came across nothing to convince me another photo would be more appropriate. Perhaps tomorrow we can return to flowers and trees.