High & Dry
On the bright outside it’s very white.
On the inside I’m creatively challenged.
On the sidewalk something high will fall down.
No. This isn’t some odd, ill-versed Japanese-style poem. It’s just plain winter. My imagination is as deep frozen as the tip of my nose and toes as soon as I leave the summit of my mountain.
Wake me up when September comes. Or even a bit before that.
From my window at work this morning
