The graphic designer on holiday

The graphic designer on holiday

On the first day
she selected a sweater
and strode down to the stream.
She surveyed and charged the stars with silence,
decided the landscape needed rearranging.

She graph aligned the ridges on pieces of A2 paper,
thumb-smudged the lone grey mountain back six inches,
brought the forest in from the wings,
and like a school photographer
asked the trees to lean in and say cheese.

On the second day, a breeze put in an appearance
and she awoke in the top room
with the rain all teasing.
The only thing to do was to take her pencils down to the steam
and let them loose like string.

The rest of the week passed too quickly,
and packing, she worried
she would forget the rubber clouds
which kept showing up and ruining the
blank white.

She spent eight hours sitting,
staring
at a knuckle rock,
waiting
for the light to come and change everything.

At grey o clock the night struck
and she waded into the stream,
bending she let the picture sink
and skitter off round the bend
too easily.