Last evening while the setting sun was writing its own story cantankerous clouds to the right were leaving deep smudges in the evening skies.
The bird songs outside my window were unrelenting, piercing the roar of the harsh spring winds. Even the delicate cherry blossoms are standing up to this latest rage.
It seems we are all to discover what we are made of. In the end, we are all just holding on.
the ire of spring
that will not be placated –
For Haibun Monday over at dVerse who is hosting with a theme of “Cherry Blossoms”. To view other entries go here
Also linking to Tanka Tuesday over at Colleen where the prompt is to take a photo from your day and write a poem in relation to it. To see other entries go here