some days I do not just feel sorrow
some days I am the sorrow
I am the grey sky
that threatens spitting snow
I am the heaviness in your limbs
your shuffling gait
reluctant to get
where you are expected
some days
I am the sorrow
the stark, leafless, skeletal
branches of the trees
dwelling in the in-between
of not-quite late autumn
not-quite early winter
that borderline of the seasons
when light is dwindling
and darkness grows
some days
I am the wistfulness
that deep longing for your younger self
when time stretched endlessly
before you
the world full of possibility
and the crisp taste of golden fruit

© 2017 Revised 2018 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved