White Weather


I hate the way the wind blows,
Especially when driving snows
Scream sideways at bent-over trees
Bringing humanity to its knees.

I hate the way the wind howls,
Never phasing wide-eyed owls
As they perch high atop the chimneys
Watching so cautiously, you and me.

Beneath those wide watchful eyes,
We shovel under darkened skies.
One owl hoots, then the other,
Snowflakes swirl, softly smother.

They keep us company as we clear.
The pair at a distance, never near.
We are separate, but together,
Inhabitants sharing white weather.

Lynn Martin McHale 4/15/13 Copyright All Rights Reserved