On a Gray Sunday Morning in Solemn Gratitude We Wait

Don Iannone, Poem about dark times, poem about waiting

Gray Sunday morning
Sparse raindrops, not yet a shower
No birds, yet the feeders stand filled
Only the sound of the wind
Rustling the turning leaves
Who know their time comes soon to change

Something inside me hopes for sunshine
Warming light, setting butterflies afloat
Toasting late September leaves soft yellows, reds, oranges and golds
No sun, no shadows, just bare white and gray—
In between colors, neither here nor there
Until then, we wait in solemn gratitude

4 thoughts on “On a Gray Sunday Morning in Solemn Gratitude We Wait

  1. Just yesterday I wished for a rainy, cold, gray day. It seems like it has been so long since I have seen rain. And then, today, I awoke to … rain, and lightning and thunder. Though the air remained hot, it lifted my heart. Funny how the grass always seems greener, or grayer, somewhere other than we are.

    Blessings to you, Don.

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