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The Call
April 16, 2014
The trees would talk to me, Whispering the words of the elm. Fog would let me be while clouds would overwhelm. People would snicker. The lonely bench would keep me warm. When the Call would bicker, I was alone, yet lost in a swarm. I sat watching the wind sprint by, underneath the color changing sky. I may be alone but need not I care. I sat upon the Calling chair. Until four seasons pass; summer, winter, spring, fall.
It is I who controls the weather upon Mother Nature's Call.
© Steve S., Marblehead, MA
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