Winds whisper gently
“You need this”.
Soils will soak it in
hold it
for summer’s plants
to gain
and surge
to harvests plenty

Gray light yields
more gray and black
leafless trees
etched in ink
road lines all laid out
shining strips across the fields
light poles straight and tall
stern, it is
this gray and black
But all of us are knowing
we’re but a tiny way
from blazing white profusion