Flurry
Small flakes
barely worthy of the polysyllabic
description: precipitation,
brief interruption
of dull, unremarkable, overcast day,
undecided wisps, erratic flight
set light
crystals dancing as if each to its’ own tune
without masterful direction,
dire orchestration
of epic arctic gale memorable, named.
Just a flurry to you, my love?
Flash of
anticipation, interest, slight worry
that outburst might be harbinger,
first stir,
of landscape changing emotional event
unwanted beyond storied thrills
passion spills
to spoil the comfort of an orderly life,
the fall exciting, landing rough.
Not enough,
scant dusting brushed away without consequence,
no weather alert set to scroll,
the toll
all mine in the storm that changes nothing real,
yet adds to drifts of longing built
in flurries.
(Marthe G. Walsh)
Spring has arrived here in south Louisiana. Azaleas are coming into bloom but are not yet in full bloom. I'll post pictures in a few days. Thanks to Marthe for the poem that describes the scene of what is hoped by many to be the last gasp of a hard winter in northern climes.
