Gray days

It's easy to grow weary of

the gray days.

Constant raindrops on the window panes.

Then the heart remembers

what life would be without it.

No fresh water to drink,

to wash with.

No green fields full of wildflowers

just arid,

barren land.

Listen then to the elements.

Whatever they bring.

The melodies of the wind

singing with the rain.

A lonely cry of a seagull

flying over the

restless sea.

Think on

( I tell my heart )

of the beauty all around.

When days like this mean hot,

steaming cups of

cinnamon tea,

comfy blankets and  a good book.

Gray days, all.