Rainy Days and Mondays

It's grey again this morning.

Drops of rain hang at the pointy edges

of maple leaves at the tip-top

of the graceful maple

outside my upstairs window.

The uppermost leaves are showing

their seasonal fashions,

but the lower ones are still

garbed in green.

They don't seem to have noticed

that change is in the air.

Grey days sap my energy.

When it's sunny, I'm ready

to take on the world,

but when a blanket of clouds

settles between me and the Sun,

I just want to hibernate.

This day is different.

This morning,

my little friend visited,

hovering a few feet away

so I'd be sure to notice.

Notice I did. . . 

and felt the same surge of delight

I always feel when I see 

that flash of green, the ruby throat,

the wings fluttering faster than 

the speed of imagination.

It's hard to think about hibernation

when your heart has been touched

by a shamanic visitor. 

Today, I am writing.

Just sent off an essay on nanny harassment

to be published on the new website

that's about to launch.

(Watch for my announcement).

Three short stories finished and shared so far,

one to go for my online writing class

on short fiction/prose.

I'm testing my fiction wings there,

in a safe place.

I'm getting ready for Susan Tuttle's 

new online class Ghostly Figures.

A new week has begun.

Birds are chirping and calling to each other,

a symphony of sound.

And I'm thankful.

.