A Tree Blooms in Winter

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 A Tree Blooms in Winter


It’s 5:30 AM. I’ve been awake since 3,

½ dreaming, ½ fuzzily thinking,

If there is any difference.

I have an expectation to write everyday,

Write about my experiences.

The pandemic isolation has crimped my style.

What do I wax poetic about, 4 walls?

I did write a haiku yesterday:

     A short stay on Earth

     Then you are gone a long time

     Waves break then vanish

Tells you what my state of mind is.

What am I waiting for?

Why not make every moment count?

Be in each one, not in the day after yesterday,

Or the day before tomorrow.

Came up with this metaphor of the Joe Biden phenomenon:

A tree blooms in winter.

A tree (Joe) blooms (is elected president) in winter (as an old guy).

I, too, am a tree and an old guy not much younger than Joe.

How am I to bloom today?

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