The wisteria on my terrace grieves;
Snow sprinkles cling to its tired leaves
The sky, now iron-grey, opaque
Like icing on a Christmas cake.
They warned us of it, yesterday;
My gloves and scarves, once put away
Must once more hang in entrance hall
Today, must I go out at all?
Friends come and go in wintry light
Their footsteps muffled, wrapped up tight
Our Indian summer on the wane
Dark mornings now with icy rain…
This outlook grey spawns thoughts of grey
I have no guided tours today…
Just a few scattered thoughts to mull;
Life may be cold but never dull.
Life happens, we must weave our thread
So, I abandon my warm bed;
First stop on this slate-tinged day:
Hot coffee lures me – I obey!
(c) Poet in the woods 2025
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