Cranes in Winter
by Leigh Allen

Driving home from work in the middle of the day
I am sick with flu, face aching, coughing, chilled.
Despite the car heater, I can’t get warm.
The day is cold, rain drizzling.
A stray snowflake smashes against the windshield
immediately melts, swept away by the wiper blade.

I turn beside the closed liquor store and look
across a field of different shades of grey:
ash sky, slate trees, birch colored grass, charcoal roads.
There stands a tree with wet crooked limbs.
A dozen white cranes perch in the bare branches.
Silently, they watch the cars go by.

Spring will come.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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