What a grey day!
If I were a painter,
I could convey the drear
in heaps of paint
(I am too heavy for watercolors
at this point in my life)
but I like to watch
so that makes me a watcher
and I write poems
so that makes me a watcher who writes,
so in too many words,
I can describe the layers of wet and grey
to convey the warm winter’s day
with maybe some of the sadness
but not the ever-bubbling sense of hope
that keeps pushing through
because I am a watcher who writes who
also looks for color
because color is linked to hope
and I am a watcher who writes and hopes
who is maybe in love and a little foolish too.
The Word Rummager 
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