the soul's aperture

Fresh and clean and continual.

It’s a rainy morning in this mountain town.

All the green I could ever ask for starts with these little drops.

I’m going to let that foresight guide me

through the dreariest parts of this season,

when I am swaddled tightly, almost suffocated, by saturated clouds.

When less light than usual is offered

and the aperture of my soul

must open as widely as it can.