We wait. We wait so patiently and quietly and assuredly as we have waited so many years before. We whisper as the earth sleeps turning her northern shoulders away from that distant persuasive sun which teases with such golden warm beauty. There is a passionate fire burning somewhere over the horizon, just not here where we plunge our cold hands into lint-filled pockets and stomp our feet stiffly but softly on the unyielding earth waiting for time to pass.
That is how i feel on cold, gray days. Today is cool and beautiful, so i'm a bit more forgiving of winter. In a day or three, when it's gray and wet again, i'll pout and put my hands in my pockets and think of what you've written here.
ReplyDeletemuch of life is waiting...hopefully we can appreciate our present as we do...have a lovely weekend!
ReplyDeleteI'll bet we're wating for spring.
ReplyDeleteBrilliant, right time, right picture.
ReplyDeleteYou have indeed poured out a powerful feeling here:)
ReplyDeleteYou have such a beautiful way with words.. and lens.
ReplyDeletewinter is all about waiting, for me at least and glad I don't have snow to deal with. I have to be careful here though, warm days in winter will tease then be followed by another bitter cold front.
ReplyDeleteSuch a lovely little prose poem!
ReplyDelete