It’s so warm today.
The wind blows and the sky is churning, black against grey
with the bitter resentment of winter overpowered.
No matter how it howls
There’s no bitterness wind
That whisks pleasantly past my face and blows my hair around my eyes.
The rock where I sit is the day’s only memory
Frozen with yesterdays chill, it turns my thighs numb
And chuckles with the small piece of consciousness that
One of the philosophers promises us that rocks have.
"No windows or doors for anything to come in or out"
Just self and consciousness of self
Is what the rock has.
But I’m sure somehow that the wind and the rock have formed a wordless pact
"There’s nothing I can do!" says the wind
As he lifts the pages of this book
Flipping back to an entry from last summer.
What a tease.
"You must hold the winter for us until tomorrow."
And the rock chuckles inside its windowless soul,
While the message rattles the shutters on its walls.