We do not live these days, but each exhausting day
unnerved we numbly wait return of life, and must abide
the wind, the still beleaguering wind;
All voices else outside imperiously it has blown away.
Over the bronze-brown paddocks the grass is bowed flat down…
Along the birdless creek a cold malevolence has passed…
A forlorn sparrow clings on the fence against the icy blast,
his soft breast feathers loosely blown. Excerpt J.Devaney
Some days “exhausted, unnerved”, we wait for it to pass….for warmth, for sun, for grief to be alleviated….
Watercolour on Arches Not Paper….