As the longest evening settles in, the grandmother tree unfurls a canopy of leaves like a freshly washed sheet. A smidgeon of moon becomes a modest beacon for the first bird to arrive in this new year. Most likely a crow with a message. Listen. Please.
all the balloons have been packed away
ReplyDeleteand the heavy air keeps her thinking
I didn't get the proper coat of paint
on the bench
and I'm stuck here in the rain