A snapshot of York


A sharp intake of breath
As the cold bites my skin
I amble through the winding streets
Through the shoppers’ din.

A peaceful river walk
Leads to a busy park
Where people stroll, relax and chat
Until it gets dark.

A bold, busy squirrel
Scrabbling in the ground
Tail like a dandelion clock
Flicking up and down.

Gravestones like rotten teeth
Push through the detritus.
A smoky mist clings to the ground
Caked in leaves of rust.

The autumn sun dips low
Behind the gnarled bent trees
Sending rays of pale, golden light
Through orange leaves

I head back to the town.
The bells of Minster chime.
The moon casts eerie, silver light
Rain wet pavements shine.

The crooked shops lean to
Conspiring together
To keep their dark, ghostly secrets
From ghost hunts who dare gather.


One Response to “A snapshot of York”

  1. Very atmospheric, lovely.

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