Chris Cope's Page

He listened to the radiator creak. Stared out the window and watched the tree in his back garden dance silently in the winter afternoon. Grey winter sky. No shape or form or break, just grey spreading out past imagine.



Creak. Ping. Click. Pipes and beams and windows and radiator. The old house stalwart. And he sat there, staring out at the sky. Felt a responsibility to stare up at the grey. He could see shades of cloud sliding across. As if the clouds were going somewhere. The sea abo… Continue