The day falls dour and dreary.
effacing winter’s palimpsest,
prevails upon the weary,
well depriving us of any rest.
The chill air, still and eerie,
the startled trees lift up their arms;
while lonesome, high, and leery,
one far falcon keens the world’s alarms.
The circling clouds enfold us,
and the whispering rain descends:
but no hour can ever hold us,
and every winter ends.
–25 April, 2020
Posted on 2020/04/25, in poetry, Writing and tagged April, dreary, quarantine poems, weather. Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.
Well Done, Asher! I just finished Lauren Kessler’s “Raising the Barre” and she often speaks of the Oregon gray skies. Being an Oregonian myself, I totally connect with wet, damp, soggy, gray, drizzle, etc. It must be noted that Oregon and Washington rain is SO VERY different from the downpours that pelted Boston and DC when I lived there. PS Sun King got postponed so that will be in August instead of June. Cheers. Seadog
Thanks! Our winters here in Kentucky are characterized by a damp, gray, soggy, drizzly atmosphere that probably wouldn’t feel out of place to someone from Oregon 😅 (Though we get our share of torrential downpours, as well—usually in the transitional bits of the year.) Coming from the Connecticut, I still miss proper winters!
I’ll be rereading RTB soon, along with “Where Snowflakes Dance And Swear.” It’ll be interesting to see if they feel different—I read both before I joined the company.
I’m wondering what’s going to happen with the SIs I was planning to attend. One’s in June, another’s in August. I guess well find out sooner or later!
Been reading Poe?
You must be in a bad way if rain deprives you of rest.
Yesterday was peacefully drizzly here. We had a holiday for dead soldiers. No marching or warmongering or politicians’ pomposity trying to wake the dead. Just the remembrance of rain.
I think it’s less the rain (which should be restful) than the long stretches of chilly grey weather.
That sounds like right way to have a holiday for dead soldiers, and good weather for it.