Poem for Day Number 7,029

The crisping wind

Tangles my blonding hair

And blows the breeze

To an almost uncomfortable chill.

The Sun is a recluse—

Invisibly hiding,

Watching,

From some unknown specter

Or behind another

Wind-whipped cloud.

The greened-over world

Tips a gentle smile

At our walking ways

And the blue of your eyes

Increases to coordinate

With nature’s color scheme.