In wintry Western WashingtonStanding in rain-soaked soil,Wearied by grey-drenched skies,I gaze up at the tree in my backyard
Hope rides the wind,
Raw and scraping.
There is an urgency of Maybefore the dog days of summerunroll their long tongues and throw off loosened collars into the field.
Life is never tidySeldom orderly eitherThings don’t always work outMove past these surface desiresLook deep into what you…