A wild, windy morning. Rain and fir cones pelt the house.
The stove light flickers — once, twice, three times; four.
Candle and matches on the counter, just in case.
Then the wind stops and everything is quiet,
As if a grand, cosmic decision has been made.
To open palms, to sit up straight, and blow away.
~
[ 2039 ]
Categories: The Art of Being
William Michaelian 