it is not a song
but birds are chirping again.

it is not a poem
but i am writing notes and lists
and sometimes
that is how love begins.

now the road is dry enough to pass
and i will make the trip to market~
how i have missed
apples and almonds, chocolate and wine...

maybe the post office is holding a letter...

rain and wind have come and gone
but in my heart
the weather of my soul remains.