Still no snow.

Rain and fog and warm temperatures

lend a swamp-like character.

My trees, their bare skeletons drooping,

stand bedraggled and waterlogged;

the view from my window is of a drab,

silent, wretched world.

No sun. No blue sky. No wind.

No snow.

Winter has yet to make his entrance;

I wonder.

Will he come at all?



© Ellie Maziekien


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