A nonette inspired by Colleen Chesebro’s weekly prompt.
There is no warmth in this winter sun
covered in a blanket of grey
as pale as melted butter
bleak as unmelted ice.
Yet the birds still fly
across their sky;
tempest-tossed
they sing
spring.
Philosophy is all about being curious, asking basic questions. And it can be fun!
Not a literary magazine for ordinary times, but a journal for an exceptional one. Writing the pandemic, together. Image, Somewhere in Time by Hengki Lee: Instagram @hengki_lee
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Beautiful, precise and vivid
Thank you!
Let’s hope spring comes soon.
It had better.
Absolutely nailed it 💜💜
Cheers 🙂
Wow!! Vivid descriptions: “as pale as melted butter…” I can see (and feel) the weakness of that winter sun. Delicious! ❤
Thanks Colleen. Wish it would warm up!
Our blizzard is gone and the sun is out. Melting snow is everywhere. ❤
I can’t even imagine surviving a blizzard!
It was the wind that was so bad. 60 mph gusts. Our bedroom is upstairs… we were rocking in the wind it was so hard. Second blizzard since we’ve been here. ❤
I suppose if blizzards were endemic to this part of the world housing would be different. The old houses are all thick stone with small windows, to keep the heat out, but the roofs are leaky, the floors and attics have no insulation, because the winters aren’t very cold. It’s very rare we even get a dusting of snow and have never had it last more than a couple of hours.
You must live in a lovely spot. Sounds fabulous. ❤️
It’s just very ordinary rural France, but the climate is good and because there’s nothing spectacular here, there are no tourists and nobody wants to live here, so it’s…quiet 🙂
Sounds lovely, Jane. ❤
It is. Except for this cave we live in…
We have to keep those birds in our sight. (K)
Their numbers are decreasing all the time.
Beautiful!
Thank you!