Tuesday, October 30, 2012
A poem of happiness.
Apologies to Alexander Niemann
The sodden fat blobs from the sky, cease to fall
onto our house . You can smell the wet broken acorns on the deck
and the ceasing of the wind in the willows next door.
The hurricane is done, gone on its way. Bothering others in its path to spread the world's warmth afresh. The air's stirred drink has renewed the clime while leaving powerless humans in its wake.
We rejoice in our continued electricity. It did not fail, nor dimmed in threat. Our meals were cooked, and warm they were.
If only those of us far north were quite as sure.