Silent

Slow drips of rain all the cold night, and air unstirred. Nothing to be said.

( Sunday Verse )

Echo of Winter

There has been drizzle all day, but the birds have sung through it. This is not a typical spring storm, though, with sudden downpours and clouds parting to reveal the sun. It is more like one of those mournful late winter storms -- relentless gray sky, and a constant pattering sounding through the still air. The flowers of the sourgrass are closed and the bushes droop. There was a lone acorn woodpecker taking refuge on the dry side of the utility pole. I wonder what became of the other four who spent the rainy days of winter there?

The house is terribly quiet.