I see the haze shades of purple and blue bruises hanging in the horizontal mist I taste it in the air sometimes more flavorful, with sunset or rain sometimes just a hint of bitter herb when memory gets overtaken with daily tedium But always on my tongue tainting everything else that graces my mouth It’s another season owning me until the next the March haze becomes a cloud then a thunderhead giving way to the eye of the storm Evil eye makes you think the bruising is healing, fading no, it just wanes enough to regain strength all consuming black and grey wind tearing off the roof rain once again soaking everything that spent the last year drying out Finally as April gives way to May the fog melts And just like that the sky is full of spring again
This is delightful Boo! 🩷🩷