Depressed. A reflection of an overcast day.
I share a mood with the weather.
Low pressure settling in.
Listlessly, riffle through the wardrobe.
What to wear, what the use?
My hands hesitate, stop.
I eye half hidden, a shirt,
folded over a chair.
No silent, insipid butter cream.
It screams of the most vibrant,
clear day of August.
Petals sizzling, richly reflecting
the sun’s hot glory.
I dress in summer,
the color of joy, of dances in the street.
And I smile through the cool,
grey mist of an early spring morn.
c. Darlene Moore Berg