sonnet 2

I stood alone atop the windy hill
And looked across the bay at blinking lights
The sound of crows and cameras snapping filled
The air. Inhaling, waiting for the night.
The atmosphere was bitter cold and tense,
The tingling just before it starts to snow
The grasping branches, cloud-choked sky, the sense
That dusk was dropping soon. I turned to go.
The sullen orange smear behind the trees
Was all that lingered, fading, of the sun.
The rest of what I saw was grey. To me,
It brought no fear, aware that I could run
A few short steps and safely find my bed.
I paused, and watched the trees a while instead.