Gray, Grey

Yes, another rainy day.

More than rainy,

no shadows,

pewter sky,

determined Drenchness,

cold needles falling from flat clouds.

What clouds?

It's a solid ceiling of near black flannel sky.

Wood stove fired up again.

I need some color.

Sweet William and Mindless Knitting

of another dishcloth are

brightening my space.

I step outside the kitchen,

waiting for my old Newfoundland dog

to relieve herself.

She paces back and forth,

back and forth

as if to say,

"Where should I go,

where is the toilet, 

where is the exact and most perfect spot?"

I try to be patient.

After all, she deserves such respect.

I listen to the robin's song

and marvel at how

such dour and bland little birds

can send such a lovely

and heart wrenching song

out in to the air.

They always amaze me,

these harbingers of Spring and Summer.

There is such beauty in their voice,

a marvelous motet of joy.

When I see them hopping

on the ground

searching for worms,

they are so serious and intentional.

I picture the males

as having pocket protectors,

brief case under one wing,

and perhaps a spotted bow tie about their throats.

I imagine the females

clutching a carpet beater

or a duster,

one dimensional in their bounce

to and fro.

All seriousness and no fun.

But, I listen to their joyous notes,

their love songs for the season

and the world that they inhabit,

and I wonder.

Even on this gray, grey day

when I need to light the lamps at four o'clock

I can go outside

and stand under the eaves

and see the notes of song

they fling onto the flannel sky.

Rose red, sunflower yellows

and orange,

blueberry and Gentian blues,

the whiteness and brightness

of untraveled snow,

greens as glowing as early summer grass,

and the brightness of Sweet Williams

and mindless knitting,

button holed and feathered on to the low firmament.

Wishing you a bright and sunny week.

best, e.