Seasonal Clock

It is cold,
And the rain trickles down the panes,
Whispering of winter still to come,
And I resist acknowledging the inevitable,
As if my denial of consent,
Will keep the seasonal clock
Right where it is.

Painted Skies

Then, our wish granted!
A day blue with painted skies,
Meant to wander out
Into the natural world,
To find peace again.
The birds will wonder
Why the strange ones will find awe
In land always there,
Simply since their hide is warm,
And no wetness falls from sky.