After a week of snow it finally broke, and started to melt

and with it sliding off the branches and dripping off the gutters

it looked like the sky was crying, the earth

collapsing in on itself

and with the snow clung to the gutters like a vice,

making the trees look like linebackers

with their shoulders slung low,

what a relief it must have been,

when suddenly the weight from all that snow slipped

off, and the branches sprung back up.

Is this you, Depression?

The weight that won’t shake?

Categories: poetry, writing

Tags: depression, nature poetry, pacific northwest, poem, poetry, William Pearse writer