Is the weather dictating my mood, or is it the other way around.
It's so windy the birds are grounded.
I hear it careening off the windows,
and it's washing over the sand outside
in waves.
Those brave birds.
I've had a silent desperation all day.
To give it sound would be to hear
what I hear now.
A hollow howl,
A constant battering.
Gray static.
Despite all this, the grumpy old man who hates rabbis
Is out on a bench reading.
He'd say it's something to hold out against.
