“Tree’s dead.” Grayson pointed at it on our way to fetch the children from school. I followed him, even though there was plenty of room on the sidewalk for us both.
“You don’t know that,” I called back. But admittedly the branches looked crucified from the storm.
“Daffodils are dead, too. Look at those bent-over heads.” Grayson pointed out more casualties.
“I can’t look.” Grayson chuckled at this. “Besides, straws are easily mended. Anything’s possible.” I said this aloud, but when we passed the muted petals, I lost my faith.
“The sun’s a straw,” I said, figuring he wouldn’t get the connection. “Soaked up all the snow around here in less than a day.”
Energetic and full of stories, the children traipsed off the bus, but the excitement of our spring had been slaughtered, so my mind and I wandered lonely as a cloud.
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dVerse Poet’s Pub~Prosery–Lillian is host tonight and tasked us with integrating a titled line: “I wandered lonely as a Cloud” by William Wordsworth (a personal favorite of mine) into a bit of prose not to exceed 144 words. Join us.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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