Willows at the lake side are all withered
and grass burnt white against a copper sky.
Crows, still, silent shadows
waiting for the dark.
Drenched in sunlight
the lake glitters and spits
like metal in a mould.
Below the surface
lie carp and bream
and pike
waiting in the cool dark.
terriblefearofcheese.com 
a vivid vignette esp the second stanza; and those sinister, silent, sentinels, the crows —
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Thank you ! Thank you ! You get the idea straight away. I’ve not written anything for ages -just sat at the desk and looked at the street- but I have tried Flowstate – you set a time – then start writing. But you have to keep on going. If you paue, then what you have written fades away..
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