How To Wear Melancholy
A palimpsest on Picture of a Soul ~ by Elizabeth Spires
A sweatshirt I inherited.
I sleep in it. Or it folds into my midnight poetry.
Pale blue, of course.
A wearied sag,
Stained with every tear
and slowly fading into rain.
It should be a rag
discarded yesterday, today, tomorrow,
still it ripens every autumn.
Here, can you feel it?
once round and perky.
On the doorknob
In the closet. Waiting.
Leaves falling fast.
© Andrea Grillo 2018
almost forsythia a little rain a little snow
imagine simmering pots of fragrant words
cabbage and beans
a garden celebration
of rustic stars
letting go letting g letting lettin lett let
I love rain and rainy days. I need the break between too many sunny days ~ yin and yang; light and shadow; feminine and masculine. And I recently realized just how very much I enjoy the start of rain showers. Having worked outside my entire adult life, I was often present when rain moved into my area. What always soothes and never fails to delight me still, is hearing rain before I feel or see it. There is a real pleasure to hear it splatter softly onto treetops and filter down. Even in winter, without any leaves to splash, I heard the rain on an early morning walk, before I felt it. It’s a sweet plushy sound.
I am inclined toward melancholy states of mind which lends a gentle poetic kinship with rainy days, puddles, storms and twilight.
would Camelot really be as sweet without rain?
my to do list
snow rain fog rivulets of gray words
the last of meadow honey
on my tongue