Such a grey day. As slow
As slippery roads beside my
Bare trees swaying faintly in
The breeze. The air tickles my
Skin with tiny pinches of chagrin,
And I wait and wonder whether
Rain is either
wind or weaving weather into
weeping wisps of water and
Wading into what puddles, mud,
And muddle we sometimes find
Ourselves in. Just breathe, my
Friend. It’ll all be okay, in the end.