pink sky over Peterborough
You couldn't have imagined this scene a month ago - a small flock
of women like schoolchildren, hurrying outdoors to catch the last
pink bits of the day inking the sky. It's not that you haven't felt the shock
of beauty arrow through you, too, at home, ogling the melty hues cast
over the wide beach. But you are used to witnessing such things alone,
in silence, empty of the echoed awe you are hearing now.
What you couldn't know was how the warm hum of these women
could fold you in and sing you into welcome. What you couldn’t know
was that your own voice could lilt and weave through theirs, belonging.
Perhaps it’s not so much the song that matters, but the singing.