As I sit surrounded
Amidst wood planks
Crackled pages
Chipping paint
Tall trees
I wonder what stories they have seen
What lives they have witnessed
All before my time
As I sit surrounded
Amidst wood planks
Crackled pages
Chipping paint
Tall trees
I wonder what stories they have seen
What lives they have witnessed
All before my time
The fireplace crackles ‘gainst the new spring chill
And hot smoke billows up into the clouds
Betwixt the cold and heat I say a prayer
For fickle sun to burst the cloudy grey
Quiet do the leaves fall
Soft comes the snow
Breathless does the grey come
And hide away the sun
And though the winter’s quiet
Is deafening
It is not nearly so much
As the resounding orchestra
Of spring
Some long while has passed
Since last the whispering wind
Muttered in my ear
Telling secrets
Granting wisdom
And I often wonder
If in my silence
I am not listening
The rains came again
And spilled on leafing lilies
That promise to bloom
I see sunlight peek through
The grey
Puncture the drear
I set down my pen
And finish my water
And don my shoes
And open the door
Yet when I run toward that sunlight
It is gone
Having awaited me while I
Set down my pen
Finished my water
Donned my shoes
Opened the door
It left, saddened at my absence
The sunrise shines through
And opens my eyes at last
To the winter’s end
That I stand here now
Means not that I will tomorrow
There is
On the wind
A secret word
One biting
One thrilling
One true
Yet to hear it
One must listen
Now the grasses grow
Reaching careful through the soil
And toward the skies