wind-whispered promise

 despite the cold

that burrows under the skin

to gnaw at the marrow

in my bones

the wind that lifts

and swirls sparkling flakes

tells me the snow will cling

to the mountains

and, in the spring, melt

as water for crops

a gift longer-term

and worth my shivering

            mjNordgren  12/26/2022  Omaha

phases of the mist

mist resting, languid, between the hills

the few pre-dawn lamps twinkling

among shadows as mists lift and stretch

anticipating the rosy warmth of sunrise

will lift them to evaporation

to continue in their rounds

of water cycle on which our unheeding

lives depend

luxuries

haiku

jet set not alone

in comforts, running water

electric fans, hope