weather report
yes, there’s a certain sadness
in the tears of a late night rain,
the showers of memories, now
caught in tiny sidewalk ponds—
and I’m stepping around them,
wishing you would call to say
you saw the storm on the news,
them ask about the weather
as if our lives depended on it.
four or five storms have come
and gone since you quit calling,
and I have no one to tell how
the big flakes failed to freeze,
or the big storm never came,
and I’m walking to my car . . .
yes, there’s a certain sadness—
call it the weather of my heart:
an empty wind on a rainy night
trusting that spring will come.
Peace,
Milton
My mom and Dad are in their 80s and call always about the weather. Thank you for reminding me to hold previous those calls.
Beautiful.
A poignant reflection. Thanks. Bob Duncan
I used to laugh at weather conversations/questions but have come to realize they are a part of the fabric of communication…in urban areas and rural/farming areas. Thanks for your insight as well.
I like that you’re trusting that spring will come. During the winter that we lost LAG, I dreaded spring’s arrival, as I couldn’t imagine feeling the hope of that season. But when spring arrived, I found myself smiling as the flowers bloomed. I saw her smile in every one.