A LATE SNOW
A late snow
Under a sun so cold
Like finally feeling old
Winter expressed
March is near
Anticipation waned
But the ice appeared
Unpredictably, uncontrollably
The answer
On the ground
The truth
A late snow
A cold sun
Delaying relief (2015)
A long winter. A delayed spring. Either way, relief has to wait. There is nothing to gain. No heat, no light. Just a dull ache kind of day that’s Permanent Gray with a dim sun. Mountains like decayed teeth, to an oceanic wasteland. The sun isn’t dying yet we just don’t see it much anymore.
I get as much done as I can when the weather is affecting me negatively. Always trying to stay productive no matter the outside. We have to, right? Sometimes I want to be as thick and still as fog. I can sit in misty silence until soaked through. On inappropriately cold days the sun is a distant lover. I try to forget about him.
There is emotional safety in the sun, but a physical killer if not careful. Perhaps the earth is still trying to sleep. She has been running a fever, but is still dancing none the less. I see the colors of her pulse in every due blossom. My pulse, a cold hammer on a cold anvil. Frozen in Spring, but I have work to do. No sun, no mountains, so I follow the blossoms.
Image: http://dustoncrowns.tumblr.com/post
