Underneath

Rain flung at the windows all day.
Blustery hours of rain splash, and that sky looks like its thinking about something old and unresolved.
In the break room at lunch, street lamps move in the breeze, a mess of seagulls, a man standing by the back entrance of a building waiting for a delivery. In the double glazing silence, they have all the temerity of a dream. The day is a fragile, inconsequential thing, and it feels like there are deep tides under these hours.
Watching the waves, perfect equations like the ribcage of some washed up whale.
Afternoon slows to evening. 6:00pm tastes of the distance; brackish woods and a disused branch line. A cold wind on the edges of things, and on the wind the sound of a solitary bell. A signal for something that will not be heard, never mind understood.
No rain now, just a flat shade of sky slowly darkening.