First rain, then wind later,
this front moves through
mechanically, going
through motions
with little soul, the dog
can’t even bring herself
to bark in alarm.
Instead we sleep
away the dead days,
and waking, are called
back, the sound
of a broken bough
falling is pillowy,
landing, it comes
to rest, comes
to rest.
OPTIONAL POETRY 
I so dislike being called back! And I love the ending – taut, bursting with meaning.
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Thank you! The storm picked up considerably after I wrote this, maybe I’ll have to write a part II
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Love it. Captures that resigned ‘trapped indoors’ feeling beautifully.
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I’m glad you like it! I am climbing the walls š
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