Ode to the Gray
Winter's tree stands tall and naked;
Branches barely there, it rises
like a puff of smoke
amid fall's remaining
shades of flame and rust.
I really, really miss writing. I think of little blurbs while in the bathtub trying to relax or while bouncing along on the 55 or 36. I used to carry pen and pad with me all the time. But now? Well, when you're crunched up in winter coats, people with newspapers spread out and shoulders broad and impeding ... it's hard to pull anything out of my bag to catch a few words.
On an unrelated note: One of my favorite things about Shabbat -- and this might seem really silly or shallow -- is that while the rest of the world is sporting jeans and sweatshirts for casual Fridays, I am wearing my best, anticipating the night's services where I can welcome in the sabbath and really, finally relax. Most people see their nice shoes, black slacks and nice sweaters as the constricting confines of the week's work and hustle-bustle ... but for me? Those slacks and sweaters are my gift of peace for just one day, after a week busy and tedious.