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.
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.
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 symphony of sound.