On a dark morning such as this,
raindrops on windows mottling the light,
ten o'clock feels like six
and the whole house is hiding
under blankets.
I missed a train in Budapest on a dark morning such as this.
On a dark morning such as this,
the flat slap of shoes,
the wet whoosh of tires,
the cold shudder of leaves,
I hear a wind chime in the distance
and it sounds like a warning bell.
The whole world is holding its breath;
but, down the street,
someone is whistling.
photo credit carl jones