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
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Author: Don Iannone, D.Div.
Biography
Photographer, poet, teacher, complementary medicine provider, interfaith minister, and former economic developer. Holds a Doctorate in Divinity, Master of Divinity, Master of Mind-Body Medicine, and Bachelor of Arts degree in Anthropology. Clinical certifications in Reiki, guided meditation, life purpose coaching, and spiritual counseling. Author of 12 books, including two new books in the contemporary spirituality field. Learn more here.
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Contact Don Iannone by email: diannone@gmail.com
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Poetic Alchemist 
Thanks Joanne. Glad you enjoyed this one, and hope that you are well.
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.
Thanks Dan, and so do I. Could be gas though. LOL
I feel it.