Grey day on the canal,

Leaves float,

Cygnets shelter from the rain.

Boats huddle near the bridge,

Wrapped in old tarpaulins.

Smoke drifts up from stoves

that sit below the water levels.

Tea kettles boil and whistle,

Stained hands make a brew,

wiping off excess oil on grubby teacloths.

Leaves create mosaics of moist greens and browns.

Trees splinter into the sky,

Bursting like fireworks

But wet black,

No sparkle

Just grey, wet, dank…

And beautiful.