The Rockies were painted by Maxfield Parish
This morning that Alpenglow pink to the West
The eastern horizon, while not quite so garish
A flannel pink aquarelle (crows just transgressed)
Each morning I sit on my armchair relaxing
Hot tea by my side, laptop on my lap
Scan the weather, the news and redacting
the tasks to take on and which ones are a trap
That will shatter the neatly constructed illusion
(Those mountains were once far under the sea)
The light fades and the diurnal confusion
Rends the painting, brings me back to me.
February 4, 2022
Acantholimon 