Changing countries, travelling the line between two homes, a life in both places. It’s hard to change from one side to another and the journey becomes a calm interval, the white space around the words.

Leaving France.
Leaving France.

Changing Places.

The shade of the clouds runs across 
in patterns of warm and cool
matched by the wind.

Sea swell crosses the waves
breaking the crest and throwing spray
into the air.

Nothing to do except wait,
pass the time conversations,
bad coffee and people to watch.

The cliffs of The Isle of White
mark the transition from Channel 
to inland water.

Returning, leaving, stuck between.
Language, money, and style
all change at the borders.

2 thoughts on “Transitions.

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