Wind Watcher

He left her years ago, his final breath
exhaled in mid-October of aught-six.
She’s been an active widow since his death,
who tries to exercise and shop and fix
most any soul she meets. A thing she picks
to focus on, outside her maladies,
the subject bumping books and politics,
is wind each afternoon, and evening breeze.

(Huitain)

This entry was posted in Aging, Family, Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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