clarity over greyness
there is a leaden greyness to these days,
as if the clouds don’t know their place
and settle down on us,
leaking drizzle to sodden the world,
I wonder how much energy rhododendron leaves
can make and store in the shorter days
since the oaks and friends have dropped their canopy
and allowed sky to be visible from the ground,
when the air is heavy with water
individual lines blur into each other
as if a impressionist burred grey over every distinction,
the morning after such a drizzled day
the air no longer is like a fogging lens,
instead each rock, each log, each leaf, is its own self,
the air forgets to assert itself
so that the world and eye have no barrier,
and I feel as new as each view feels to me.
by Henry H. Walker
December 20, ‘21
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