You say . . .
. . . “there’s a cold front moving through.”

Clouds rush overhead
flashes of silvery light
passing from one tree to the next.

One empty blue patch
catches the sun
and throws it down onto the earth
for all to see.

I say . . .
. . . there’s a cold front moving through.

Reflections disappear
as if never there before
I can still see the leftovers
and my only remaining sky – – –

. . . there’s a cold front moving through.