I got caught up on The Writer's Almanac site yesterday and saw this poem from last week, which suits the weather and the sort of watery, in-transition feelings from the last few months that are not quite dispersed yet:
Larry Smith, "In Early Spring"
Road catkins, russet and tan, let the
wind sweep over them as dusk
seeps in along the lake,
and I pass road puddles
swelling to ponds, mirroring
the sky's own silveriness.
At the railroad tracks seven geese
veer off and set down in a field
so that only their necks
speak for them, telling us all
to go on while they rest
by the barn. Today a man
asked me if I were depressed,
and I looked up and smiled.
No more than these geese or catkins
as light falls around them, no
more than those pine boughs
lifting in the wind—just so,
life goes on.
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