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This Cold, Dry, Windy Weather Won’t Quit
Sunday sonnet
Three little bursts of snowflakes fall, though might
not ever land. A cold, dry, windy day
with skys drawn mostly gray in soft sunlight.
Ignore the small discomfort. Here I’ll stay.
I’ll stay this minute. What runs by? A mole?
They’ve dug their dens down deep. There! Everywhere!
The voles and mice, the chipmunks in their hole,
conserve their energy inside. I hear
wind-howl inside my ear. My fingers freeze.
Green leaches into purples, almost blue.
A great gust shakes the ground and bends the trees.
Turn home, imagining that little mole
preparing food I’m sure it does desire,
lit gently by a tiny woodstove fire.
Thank you, The Daily Cuppa, for publishing these Sunday sonnets.