hello! i am back with the third installment of my corona series poems :) this one came out of a walk i took one day when the streets were bare…. trying to observe the little things around, spot beauty & enjoy simple pleasures like walks :)
Apocalyptic
The streets are bare.
Sullen. Soulless.
Quasi-apocalyptic.
How fitting.
The bare brittle trees dry as chipped plaster.
The gloomy grey sky signaling it's time to stay inside.
Despite the bitter cold that rips through my skin.
Tearing the tissue open to reveal the stinging pink flesh
I find solace in walking outside.
Alone.
The mood is eerily comforting.
It feels like I'm back in the depths of winter even though spring is tomorrow.
Back during the holidays when everyone voluntarily hibernates because that's what you're supposed to do.
Because that's how it’s always been done.
What difference does it make that now it has been forced upon us?
A writer's retreat.
Ripe with inspiration.
Sprouts of creativity emerge.
The solitude. Barren quality.
The desert
Morose & sulky.
A walk really is the perfect antidote.
The cure-all.
Rejuvenating.
Palette cleansing.
“Mood boosting”
- as they say.
Perspective.
Sights.
Smells.
Thoughts.
They all come running down.
Finally cede to the cold. My fingers are numb, my feet paralyzed.
In the end, I retreat
From my retreat.
The writer's journey
ending
with a warm mug of tea.