A Winter’s Walk

For W. P.

 

“Reality, and its insubordinate dream.”

From: “The Pumpkin Eater.” Penelope Mortimer

 

Walking through the rain

For no good reason.

No umbrella, nor bright,

Yellow slicker with a hood.

Darkly dressed, but not depressed.

No need to impress,

Or be the least convincing, today.

Now, feeling the incessant drops

Begin to penetrate my clothes

And weigh them down.

Ballast against the gusting.

Grounded, the rain needles

Ever more impinging on my skin,

I am awake.

The chill becoming cold,

Then, engraving my bones,

I am aware.

The tide of frosted breath

Expelled, or sucked inside,

I am monotonously alive.

This is enough today,

For now.

 

The insubordinate dream

Begins to beckon once again.

It is merely a candle

Being lit in the window,

Its flame tentative,

As if it were lit in a draft.

Back inside, perhaps

I shall brew a cup of tea,

And sit on a window seat,

Feeling it steam

Against my chin.

Perhaps, I shall look

At the pictures

Forming in the blots

Of rain on the pane.

Then, with premonition,

Once again, I yet may dare

To gaze into the haze

Of the tempestuous world

Beyond.

 

My mien is lit by a smile;

I feel it is so.

 

March 20-22, 2011

 

 


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