It wasn't so long ago, but certainly before the frost's glow.
I remember rainy Mondays
When forty degrees and overcast,
Fog and mud made me think,
This isn't singing in the rain,
dancing in puddles weather.
When forty degrees and overcast
became the snow that always lingers
Somewhere in the forecast,
I beg for sun on the morrow.
Weather compounds gloom and misery.
Fog and mud made me think
That I would trade all for bright rays.
But now I would just settle
For feeling my fingers and toes
And not seeing breath In icy plumes.
This isn’t singing in the rain
Or a green grass and sunlight dream.
I fear to blink away the hard ice
Collecting on my battered lashes
As wind stings my eyes.
Dancing in puddles weather,
So far away makes me wonder
How miserable I will be in February.
It is only mid-November,
Already I lament fog and mud.