(Written a few days before the New Year)
There is some hanging in the air today.
Something amongst the wind in the willow
Something resting between gusts
Something waiting
Coming
A storm
The new year twirling
Green sticks
Waving, flapping,
Too light on this dark day
Overcast, chill,
Willows are not happy trees
They mourn
They sigh
Perpetually complaining
But today something is hanging between the breaths
Of their sighs.
And I am holding my breath
Waiting.
-a.e
A.M. EDMONSON 