Winter in Chicago

It rained all day Monday
A slow, steady rain
Turning everything beyond my window
A silvery pall
Colorless and monochrome.

By noon the gutters filled
And small geysers sprouted
From concrete and asphalt
Pooling in yards and fields.
It rained all night.

Tuesday morning the rain stopped
But thick fog shrouded
City, town and country.
People spoke softly.
Even traffic seemed mute.

Wednesday afternoon the temperature plunged
Into the teens.
By nightfall it was well below zero
Freezing standing water
Barren, iced tree limbs and corduroyed farm fields.

On Thursday I closed my drapery and curtains
Fearful the weather outside
Would corrupt the atmosphere inside.
But cloth is no barrier against icy force.
I chilled, then froze after the power lines fell.

By Friday morning
Everything in my spirit turned brittle
Hard and overwhelmed
Pooling like bruising limpidity
Through every molecule and atom.

By Saturday all thought fled
And I sat within my hovel
Resisting the need to peer outside
Fearful whatever hope remaining
Would evaporate in dismal collaboration with winter.

On Sunday the sun appeared!
Ice began to melt. Power was restored!
Standing water soon flowed down the streets
And I stepped outside with arms outstretched
Absorbing renewed hope in the heart of Chicago.

On Monday it rained again.