Woke up with frost on the grillcover and some ice in the birdbath. It was a chilly day. Had to put the heat back on. Really getting tired of this. Thought of this poem. Wrote this couple summers ago.
Lake's mirror reflects patches of color.
Some gray from the storm, that's also
flecked with white of a fair day.
Then the blue, with distinct shades.
Lightest nearest to the green trees
Deepening as it rises to the center,
and all cover with bits of grey.
Lake texture changes as the sun does.
Minute ago shimmering, now rippling.
with them brushing the rocks,
and now back to shimmering.
Four sections of ragged grays
Skim the bottom of the higher ones
they move towards me, are they
the ghosts of the moving storm.
Shapes recast as they skim
through this quiet world.
They, about to go over me.
Lost their ghostliness and go.
Voice trying to impress on her
but not on me, yet they live
beside this mirror lake.
I merely a visitor, passing
ending of this day in quiet.
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