But yesterday, the weather
was of heat and sweat, heavy
wool, the air stood still.
Today, the winds swoop down
chilled and urgent, small
spattering of rain tapping
on the terra cotta roof.
Inside, I build a fire;
I have the right to mourn
what can't be saved or changed.
It isn't easy to ignore
the darkness, blackened clouds
or ravaged trees, but here within
the man-made silence, secretly
underneath the mystery of struggle,
another world is born.
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