Difficult Times

Difficult Times

I find myself peering out the window.
A single pane at a time.
The landscape is listless and gloomy.
The face of optimism is distorted by the
rain on the wet glass.
February's gray days slip quietly one into
the next. Before this, snow squalls left behind
towering drifts that only mother nature can
arrange in order to make her presence known. Now
the rain has arrived, blurring our resolve.
There is no regaling. Lackluster
skies sink deep into the dark feathery
pines. Tree limbs bow with
appropriate humility. Puffs of wind
spirit away far flung ruminations
in a small funnel of brown leaves swirling in an
otherwise languid meadow.
I watch the rainwater with its
mushy ice trickle from the downspout as
it bores a narrow ditch in the rain-softened
earth by the kitchen door.
I surrender to the rain with its bruised hues
and whipping winds
that carry a bevy of sparrows
aloft, fluttering and sparring.
Calling on spring
and the poetry of hope to revive us.




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