Wondering when the season ends will not make leaves fall faster.
Wishing spring would swap out fall will not make summer ever after.
I know the truths of waiting, yet I do not feel their weight
If only I could see the end, I’d more easily shelter in place.
Yet as it is my truths are muddled, the skies aren’t clear and dust clouds reign
If I want to live then my life must die
And sheltering in place.
I did not know just how much snow
Could fall in such a winter.
And as it grows, and my windows close
I begin to forget the summer.
Someday I’ll breathe the light again but until then
I wait instead.