No sound, water jelly flat,
so still it hurts my ears.
Even sun slides silently
into autumn’s metal light.
All jamboree, clang and din
now far away in time.
Even breath is offensive here,
in case of ripple and slapping rocks.
I cannot read or turn a page
lest a mumble or paper scrape,
escape and shatter the loch.
Like a breaking glass to
a rousing cheer,
as all that knowledge gets out.
So I stare at reflections
in late day waters
reliable quiet, but maybe
their heat is not that hot.
©️ Dai Fry 30th April 2020.