He squinted his eyes against another attack by the icy wind. The snow tore sideways now, containing small chips of sleet, he shrunk his neck even further down into his parka,
with one hand holding onto his hat. He was tired of this roar and rage of winter, the daily fight with the wind.
But he was a tough ole guy and on this day he leaned in, lifting up a prayer, thankful that he had a job to go to,
which meant they both had the medical coverage they needed so desperately.
No ugly wind would ever take his wife. He was a tough ole guy still fighting, the roar and rage
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies