Strange Times - A Poem

A whole month marched by since I last wrote in this journal I’ve tried to start.

The month that the Virus marched in.

Here, another heavy snow warning.

The grey sky presses down.

Outside it was snow blowing across a field of snow, a desolate scene this late in winter.

Now, white flakes fly almost horizontal, softening the features of trees in the distance like fog, trees with leaf ready to burst into spring, flakes adding a new layer of lifeless virgin white.

We wear a wet cloak soaked in news of a virus, a heavy cloak offering no protection or warmth.

Strange times.