A Long White Day

(Deep fog yesterday early, to light fog, deep fog, light fog…all day)

A mound of white cotton presses down

squeezes low

swabs around, dabs around

sore wounds of the Fall

 

A fog of winter white compresses

soothes bare trees

missing leaves, losing leaves

aching from the Fall

Spring Signs

Snow’s melting

Three robins arrived, checking out muddy-green patches

Newly thrown bird seeds hide in reappearing long dead weeds

Birds not eating well, on the alert

Many cats on the prowl

Cat “perfume” now drifts throughout the house from outside

Thinking about buying a BB gun

Yay, spring’s here!

TR

Enough of a Good Thing

O, wet days

piled on top of one another

dreary, gloomy, trudging

through slippery wet streets

watching the drippy eaves

gray, colorless earth and sky

cold, windy air

mist drizzling lacy, reflective

wetness over everything until

this morning when

I noticed the full moon shining

on one side of the sky and

the dawn radiating a thin red line

from the other side of the sky

O, dry days

Actually, I only felt overcast for one moment yesterday. I’ve been enjoying the moisture, but the past week of wetness has made up for the weeks and weeks of dryness back in Kansas. I think I’m no longer dry, so I’m glad that heaven’s perspiration is stopping now, because I would have needed a sunlamp.

TR

Ms. Thunderhead

Her gilt, gold, organic edges stood out sharply as my eye traveled up, up, way higher than the new, thin airplane trail passing her

Powerful, deadly, awesome in size as the lower clouds shoved her fluffy, white height into the atmosphere with all their strength, and while toiling, they shed tears into the blue evening shades, while the setting sun continued to smolder off the edges of her hefty frame

(From an enormous thunderhead sighting on October 22, 2014)

TR

Chicago, O’Hare, One Afternoon

 

Plastic bags gently chase each other, in continuous wind-caused circles, between the building and the large metal boxes on wheels parked side by side and attached to little carts for picking up luggage, which come and go from time to time, while raindrops slap against the glass window I’m staring out of, leaving water balls of themselves, smaller and smaller, as they slide down until nothing is left to leave behind.

Moving to the other side of the room, the gloomy, overcast skies also cover the front of Concourse B, graying the metal and glass structure, making it resemble an old factory needing a shine up.

Inside, above me, a large white ceiling fan with several long fins, quietly whumps around with upturned tips imitating jet wings, going nowhere.

Sighing heavily, I continue roaming around the crowded waiting areas, filled with people wanting to go somewhere, like me.

TR

A Different Kind of Cookie

Drowning with gloom, mists, tears

I float above bright white clouds

hiding the gloom, mists, rains

on the world below

me clouds world

like a sandwich cookie

only not as sweet

 

This written while riding on United from San Diego to Chicago to Wichita on the early morning of June 10 after being told that my husband had been hospitalized in Dodge because of blood clots in his legs and lungs.  The doctor’s there have since saved his life and my husband is recovering nicely.

TR