The darkness is growing.
The north wind is blowing.
The swollen river is rushing
like a stampede of harried horses
between the banks.
The damp night air
is met by an earthy prayer
for fragrant life to reclaim
cold muddy ground.
Here in the nervous shadows,
another candle is lit
piercing the darkness where we sit
listening to furious sweeps of rain
beat fists against the glass.
When will the big surge come?
How much damage will be done?
When will it all come to an end?
How will the dawn light find us?
Haunted Avenues 