How do we choose to travel?
What is reliable in the rain?
What is our ultimate destination,
for this time, this journey, or
this day?
We move at the speed of life.
Depending on traffic, others
may chose to follow your path,
but not your direction.
© 2021 j.g. lewis
A little cold, little wet,
a little tired and yet
I am here. Still,
full of wonder.
The morning chill leaves
little to the imagination
and much less
to hope for.
Expected, perhaps, as it
always is, this time, this
season is only what
we ask of it.
11/21/2024 j.g.l.
The answers are far less certain
than even last week, to all those
perennial questions or solutions
you might seek.
What do you believe, or
what do you believe in?
Come Monday, you have fewer
questions than you had last week.
For a while there are less doubts
in what you believe.
Whom do you believe in,
and who believes in you?
11/18/2024 j.g.l.
I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
A little too little, a little too late
for crunchy brown lawns and fields of sickly corn.
August rain.
Heat didn’t help. Heat rarely does,
not like this.
Parched.
We wake when we sleep, then wake up wondering.
Another day of humidity, give-and-take forecasts,
and questionable economic news. Speculation.
The lies we must live with, and the hope,
so little evidence.
Puddles were temporary most of the time,
this year
dry as dust.
Drought.
Precipitation,
evaporation,
rain less of a problem than more of a solution.
This year
when it happens, it happens.
Untimely response. Unfortunate.
While we wait for an answer.
© 2022 j.g. lewis
“August rain: the best of the summer gone, and
the new fall not born. The odd uneven time.”
-Sylvia Plath
I’m like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.