The Midst of Crisis
Balmy dusk.
Lightning bugs are out
after a pop-up storm,
but no whippoorwills yet this year.
I’m exhausted, unable to sleep,
kept awake with images
from the news. Headlines,
cries of agony, predictions.
I’m holding my breath again
wondering if I’ll know when
we’re living the last tender moments.
2 thoughts on "The Midst of Crisis"
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I’m holding my breath again
wondering if I’ll know when
we’re living the last tender moments.
And in the midst of crisis, nature is nature, isn’t she.
I catch myself holding my breath too.
I feel this poem so much. Let us hope and pray there are better moments just ahead.