Blind

*I usually don’t go for rhyming poetry, but this seemed to write itself today. John’s birthday was yesterday and by bedtime it had become particularly difficult. Sometimes, it’s true, migraines are emotional, stress and fear leaking from the heart to the mind. And so. New snow, that breathless bright white Usually brings joy, but some…

Blind

*I usually don’t go for rhyming poetry, but this seemed to write itself today. John’s birthday was yesterday and by bedtime it had become particularly difficult. Sometimes, it’s true, migraines are emotional, stress and fear leaking from the heart to the mind. And so. New snow, that breathless bright white Usually brings joy, but some…