A Blustery Morning

The promise of winter rides the charging wind.

Dark clouds pace the sky, prophesying doom.

The weeping willows wail and thrash in protest.

Leaves, by the thousands, jump—a frenzy in slow motion—

then rush the streets with panicked footfalls to escape.

Not me. I read the signs like letters from a friend,

and smile, knowing winter comes this way again.










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