On End

The days are starting to run together. I can't recall if it rained all day today or if there were a few hours of mere overcast this afternoon. Perhaps that was yesterday, or the day before, or one day last week. I know it's raining now, and the wind is picking up and the pine trees are full of aspirate whispers.

What are they talking about? It must be a complaint. They are tired of dripping, their sodden roots ache with the cold, their limbs shudder as though they would snap. We are all short of temper. But there must be patience. The rain will be hanging about for a few more days, and the nights will be chilled longer.

But there will be sun eventually, and I'll be able to tell one day from another until the persistent light makes them monotonous again. For now I could do without that drumming on the window.


( Sunday Verse )