We sit on a cloudy, warm winter day,
Ablaze with the passion of summer
Deep within our beings.
Remembering a bud that opens
In the spring rain to adorn
The bough of the tree it rests upon.
And though there are grey clouds
Slithering eastward to dump
A foot of snow upon the nearby foothills,
Still we recall the warm breeze of summer
Upcoming, always moving forward
With a long, languid evening stirring our soul.
We’re still in its bosom, warm and safe
Despite the flurries and gales
Upon us from the north.
And summer will bring a new year
One step closer to our next chapter
Writ by fate or destiny or dumb luck.
Never very obvious
So as to always entertain and amaze
With its convoluted path, ever-grateful
Of the succor that is bestowed
Upon us from its unfathomed place
Where dreams and nightmares are made.
But for us, dreams…
© Richard A Martin, Jr., MD, CPC, 2017