Poetic Bloomings Borrowed Line

As Calendar Pages Turn 

I hear reports

from various places

of sunshine and rain,

tulips and daffodils,

nest-building birds,
wonderful walks
in warm embracing air.

But here in Colorado

the mountains draw near,

speckled with white

against the gray sky.
Snow on north side piled high.
Winter wind whispers
“More to come.” 

The tangled bare branches,

like tightfisted misers,

refuse to bud. So I sit,

afghan-wrapped, dreaming

of bike rides, hikes, picnics

in blossom-scented breezes,

and I wait for winter to give up.

 

I wait for winter to give up from Judy Roney’s Charcoal Days, Prompt #90