Holding station

On a cold crisp morning
           world in sharp relief
silhouette of firs
           against the skyline
a sky plied by jets
           playfully releasing
thin white trails
           of condensation as they go

And play’s the thing
           the absence of aggression
allowing life to flow
           through the veins
giving rein
           to the innocence
that is there
           in our nature

Light brings life
           brings colour
here in this holding station
           where hopes and dreams
are given time
           in which to breathe

John Lyons