I can hear the wind serenading me sad songs through the lips between glass and pane of windows. Peeking out to take it all in I see the ground blanketed in fresh, white inches of snow and sigh. I dont want to break up the icy mounds left by plows, or shovel the drive, again. The other day there was a different, happy song in my heart. I walked outside and the birds knew the lyrics, the sun was playing cords upon my grateful flesh, and fifty degrees was the heatwave tugging at heartstrings. I am so ready for spring rains and thunderstorms that scare my daughter into my arms. Ready for summer temps and sandy beaches on weekends. My body screams at me in protest over chores in the warmth. Ive been procrastinating them for days, but now I have to convince it to brave the cold, sharp winds, and heavy lifting of icy chunks that stop singing, and instead scream pain to spines and hips and legs and ankles. Boo to you, Old man winter; you have over-stayed your welcome.
Posted on: Wed, 12 Mar 2014 15:18:14 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015