NaNoWriMo Day 18 The Phone Lines In The Tree
Seasons turn with the year’s slow pace.
Twig and branch sleep.
News by wire in a hectic race,
Winter drains all the sap away
And waits for Spring.
Offers valid just for today,
Nature moves in its old, old time,
Steady and slow.
Hearts and minds to a different chime,
Faster must go.