Impatience

What's to be done with this winterly ennui? Each day recedes as a line of muted color staining the horizon, and a chilled night follows. Tonight there is a gibbous moon, but I remain uninspired by its light. There are a few clouds, but they hold no interest for me. All the energy of spring remains locked away. In a few weeks the camellias, most impatient of flowers, will probably emerge, but in the meantime their closed buds might as well be stones. The only cheering thing is that each evening the light lasts a bit longer. January is a weary walk uphill.

( Sunday Verse )