The sky grey-lagged
Feathered clouds in flight northward
Spat serious intent. A weather warning
Not wide enough of some wild blackberries
– But still I contested, and still the bee
Bumbled over late pink blooms.
My fingers too inched gingerly between briars
A purple-stained greed that ran with rain.
I hurried on the showerproof hood
heading homeward, head bent
with torrents timpaning a resolute beat
on blue-black plastic.
Couples clustering under umbrellas
Puddle-jumped in conversation,
Bedraggled dogs aborted walks
Bubble-wrapped prams and pushchairs wove
Wheelie patterns on the pavement. All this I saw
Before I reached the door, sodden
But home from the harvest.
Title gives a nod to Dylan & and I'm dropping in to the poets pub where Grace is hosting Open Link Night