Stroked
My daily skies were always clear and full of promise
Kites flew easily, birds sang and I could see forever
Then one day the next season’s clouds started to rise
Simple little puffs at first, floating, nearly un-noticed
Soon however there was nothing but mist, twilight
The season for fog was still far off, it's only summer
Yet the weatherman's diagnosis was clear and direct
It isn't right or expected but bright days may be gone
You have enjoyed above average sunny days to date
But now you seem to be in the throes of Winter's low norms
Unwilling to accept my lot I sought meteorological specialists
Those who could tease the storm gods and get them to relent
Daily visits, constant incantations of repetitious utterances
Yet the fogbanks and disruptive thunders continued
I was to spend my many days, muddling in the wet gloom
Though they tried and tried the prognosticators of doom
were unable to accurately discern the complex patterns
After a two-year-season of dark days the sun re-appeared
Peaking, without announcement or fanfare, it smiled
Simple warmth and clarity restored day by day
Leaving a deep respect/fear for the winter of others
Bionote
Kevin Peterson is a former jail cook who now lives in the Pacific Northwest with his wife of over 30 years. He currently works as an engineer for a large chip manufacturer and as VP of NorthWest Outreaches. He is an active member of a vibrant community of poets in Hillsboro in addition to online contemplative writing groups. His poetry has been published in Pay Attention: A River of Stones. A good sampling of his work (including his chapbook "Loose Marbles and Assorted Stones") can be found on his websites:
www.kevinandnancypeterson.blogspot.com/ and www.fabmonkeystones.blogspot.com/.
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