I walk down empty streets under a gray sky.
A crow caws overheard- answered by it’s murder’s calls.
The brisk east wind blasts across the lake
racing toward the mountains.
It pushes back my black hood,
and tangles my long hair.
My nose and ears redden with the cold.
New buds grow on the bare trees,
but it feels more like autumn than it fees like spring.
Bringing Mae Flowers 