The Arrival of Weather
You come out of the woods to familiar fields,
Light and shadows and tall pines,
rows where corn once grew
in a season now past.
There are clouds in the distance,
a mix of dark and fluffy,
the smell of rain in the air.
A promise? A threat?
You never know until the weather arrives.
About this poem.
An argument for living in the moment, inspired by a conversation this morning. Inspired by Hurricane Ian and the fact that my son lives down there.
The picture was taken in Surry County, Va, on what was once my grandfather’s farm.