Thursday, January 9, 2025, 17* Gray, Dusting of Snow
Not even a favorite song can dislodge this attitude. This is not seeing what is front of me. Let me go outside. (Outside of me) Light. Very light frosting of white but not in the trees. Trees still sway, still lean towards each other, sometimes touch but not softly in this wind, a clashing of limbs. Some white in the slate blue sky, jagged lines as if the horizon was cut out, placed higher. No birds fly. Chimes not jangled not scraping metal on metal, not quiet either, they perform a metal melody. Not a tune we know, penned quickly by the wind.
A quiet scene compared to fires in California. The smoke I inhale floats down into this valley from chimneys warming houses as fires burn. I am thankful for the peace here. I must pay attention to what is in front of me. I must look higher.
Photo: LJ Austin
