Waking
to grayness
rain slapping windows
winter wind crying
because it does not heed
spring
and life.
Wrapped in my blanket
I listen
to that unrelenting wind
daring
not caring
moaning
mourning
around the edges
of existence.
—then—
Through the
gusting gloom
wailing doom
a faint sound.
A solitary
little bird
singing
joy joy joy-joy-joy
honoring
the light
ever
how dim.
Bird singing in the rain. Andy Morffew. CC BY
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lit bits and pieces 
The bird singing, “joy, joy, joy. joy…” Spring is coming.
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There’s so much I enjoy about this. I love that the wind is making a repeat appearance in your work. Sounds like it has something to say.
And the still, small voice of the bird breaking through the desolation is a symbol of everything that we need right now.
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I have never heard the wind moan so long and hard as it has here this spring – even on bright, clear days, it is lurking around the house like an invisible Being, seeking a way in or daring me to go out and be consumed. It is a real character in the unfolding tragedy of these days; it sounds as if it knows.
That bird. The dawn was so gray. I thought, where are the others? And then I thought … I need to BE that bird.
So grateful that you enjoyed. 🙂
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I think there is much about this world that knows more than we do, Fran!
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I have also heard the sounds of the wind and rain in the gray darkness lately. Even when the sounds are faint, I know they are there. Do they know that we listen and reflect on their presence-
“mourning
around the edges
of existence.”
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I almost believe they know we listen, Carol.
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