STRIKING GOLD

At night, alone in the darkness of a Guernsey lane, the imagination conjures up all manner of sounds and images, from the faintly sinister to the sublime.
I remember one joyous night a few winters ago when the gable-end of a neighbour’s house became, for a few brief moments, a glorious image of yellow fields and blazing sunshine. 
  
 

MASTERPIECE

At the dark lane’s edge one lone lamp
illuminates a gable-end,
rain-slick, big as a movie screen.

I see there
an undiscovered mural
by Van Gogh: Provencal fields
abundant with shimmering light.

We stand there dripping, dog and I,
ignoring rain
and winter’s cold,
wet cap, 
wet coat, 
wet collar turned,
lost in a landscape, fiery gold.