Wind scrapes my windowI snuggle deeper intomy book, its words ablanket, soft and warm. Time andreality disappear. Featured Photo courtesy of The Pixelman on Pixabay

It’s not thinking lessof yourself.  It’s thinking ofyourself less.  This isa ram’s horn’s composition:Humility’s perfection.

Crunchy grass, withered flowers; my yard’s a desert. I smile as dark clouds hang low overhead. Birds stop singing. I smile: Rain.  

Water whispers in the trees; the drops cool my skin. Running in the rain…

Sparks of light flicker Here, gone, there, gone; tricking eyes to search the darkness.

The yarn is tangled. Just when I think there’s progress more knots appear. The more I try, the worse it gets. I shrug and put the mess down.

The field was plowed, dirt turned over; fresh after a long winter’s lockdown. Hail and snow, long into spring makes the harvest uncertain.

Life unsuspecting– Silent. Invisible. It sets the world on fire.

The woods sleep with snow My ears listen for spring birds, My eyes long for you As I sit by the window Wishing you could come again

Snowflakes big as coins soggy, sullen, sorrowful Tulips will soon bloom.