Grief A word so soft when whispered gently The dark of a wind ravaged night, No moon, no stars Morning a sliver on the horizon, bobbing farther
The chariot drives a much slower arc, Warming the earth with the strike of the hoof. Branches that once were formerly stark,
Skies of pewter Tarnished, worn. Heavy, burdened clouds fat with expectation. Cloaked drops shielded, bound. Marching band of thunder
Sprung Mind for Spring
As long as I can recall winter has been too long, too dreary, too cold, and too depressing. (Dreading it still isn't enough to move me from Western New York.) When the first tulips peek out of the dead grass, and the skunk cabbage carpets the edges of the creek, I begin to come alive again. Hope restored! Life is worth living!!! Open the windows!!!!
Most people liked to stay Below. Below was safe. He preferred Above. The air was thick, the light was intense. The silence was welcome.