The Process: Winter Chills

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It’s become a ritual now,
Inhale the THC, exhale the smoke.
I watch the snow as it falls slowly to the ground.
The sound of a horn from the train nearby is heard.
The birds chirp under the grayish-blue sky.
I ponder on how animals prepare for this time,
I’m sure some thrive.
The horn from the train blares again.
And I feel inspired!
Wondering what it means to me.
It’s the root of the trees I planted,
That’s my writing.
Without it, I can share only
Silence.
But with silence comes a stillness,
A pause in time

Where there is no sound

No disturbing inner voices.

I begin to drown out the humming of the radiator,
and the resounding noise of my husband calling me

for lotion from the next room over for our baby

interrupts my thoughts.

Damn,

Though peace was momentarily disrupted,
The birds begin to chirp again.
The snow is still…