Not sure what’s going on with me on the inside. Whatever it is, its not truly bubbling up to the surface. It’s lurking deep within. Every now and then I get snatches of it. It feels like shades of blue. On this spring day, winter lingers. The kid-musician down the block is not helping. The mournful notes from his violin an interim shroud to these snatches of blue.
crows atop branches
flit at the bidding of the wind –
on the lookout for spring