there on the outside
is nothing for us to meddle with,
a business of wind blowing in all directions
and snow, various kinds,
coating trees, filling window screens,
piling high on roofs and railings,
driven up again, in powder form,
from the ground
We haven’t been out all day,
contenting ourselves with
food and naps and laundry,
thoughts and hopes,
wistful as snow,
blowing around inside.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 13, 2018
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