We’re socked in with a disgusting inversion here. Our beautiful ring of mountains forms a bowl that fills with smog and causes the end of January and February to be….smog season.
I hate smog.
The world outside is a thousand shades of gray, visibility is poor, and it’s not safe to play or run outdoors. I feel crummy. There’s no relief in sight for now, the sun isn’t supposed to break though any time soon and our best hope for relief is a snowstorm that might happen Sunday.
I am lamenting the decision to give up our gym membership…it’s killing me not to be able to run!
So, this poem is just a fantasy of mine. How would I feel if the air cleared, the sun broke through, and I could just stand for a moment and soak it in?
I found the refrigerator magnet poetry to be irritatingly limiting, but that matches the way I’m feeling about about the smog, so somehow it seemed to fit!
In case you can’t read the words in the photo, the poem is:
Sweet, delicate moment
knifes through the bitter void
crushes the raw and aching need
I stop and
here in shining sun
More Random Acts of Poetry:
Laure’s The 11 O’Clock Morning Hour at Weaving the Hours
At A Journey Through His Garden, Yvette writes Silent Slumber.