(Deep fog yesterday early, to light fog, deep fog, light fog…all day)
A mound of white cotton presses down
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
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!
Foggy sun provides
soft mist glare o’r thinly veiled
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.
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)
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.
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.