Lovely. As I sit and read this poem, ice and sleet are drumming on the metal roof. The horses stand inside their stalls, looking as forlorn as I feel. Fresh snow coats the mountain outside my window. Under gray skies, I cannot help admire the white wonder, even as it holds spring (temporarily) at bay.
There’s something so cleansing about the snow. It’s not something we ever get this far south, but still, we keep waking to these cold days. It will be gone in a couple days (you’d probably laugh at what we consider cold) and we’ll be back in the heat. May the Lord be gentle and near in the forlorn days and guide you into sunnier ones.
So great. I love your intelligent use of form and fresh imagery, in this season-appropriate wonder at the guessing game we are treated to in these lengthening damp days. Thank you for sharing!
Lovely. As I sit and read this poem, ice and sleet are drumming on the metal roof. The horses stand inside their stalls, looking as forlorn as I feel. Fresh snow coats the mountain outside my window. Under gray skies, I cannot help admire the white wonder, even as it holds spring (temporarily) at bay.
There’s something so cleansing about the snow. It’s not something we ever get this far south, but still, we keep waking to these cold days. It will be gone in a couple days (you’d probably laugh at what we consider cold) and we’ll be back in the heat. May the Lord be gentle and near in the forlorn days and guide you into sunnier ones.
So great. I love your intelligent use of form and fresh imagery, in this season-appropriate wonder at the guessing game we are treated to in these lengthening damp days. Thank you for sharing!
It is most certainly a guessing game these days! I’m glad this one resonated with you. Thank you for reading (and subscribing)!