lurking, foreboding

sits on the periphery

waiting for first light

amidst the raindrops

flat white flakes like lint or ash

tumbling around us

seasons of Thi-Wurd

voice, character, style and tone

writing and sharing

last summer’s flowers

still blooming in pots outside

tossed in winter storms

a bird is singing

its voice as clear as a flute

are the clouds clearing?

stretched across my bed

nose over one side, back paws

the other, dreich day

at the confluence

setting a new direction

on roiling waters

leaping up from bed

when the day starts with promise

things you want to do