Should I complain about the fog?
It rises from the morning cove
expanding its horizon to the ridge
only to dissipate into crows wings
and the sad song of the loon.
No sense in whining about that which will disappear soon enough.
Aches and pains from the weather are soon forgotten
when watching sparrows wreath
the venerable brows of the old oaks
in their winter slumber.
complaint does me no good-
and I shall learn that lesson once again
as the morning sun sparks through the prismed window
sending rainbows dancing across my kitchen floor.