Three gray days
of rain
and the sky looks like
the sun is
a jilted lover
that split for the coast.
It's Sunday morning.
I'm sitting at my desk
with coffee
and a blank page.
A woman walks by
in a sea-green sweatshirt
walking two big dogs.
The wind lifts their fur
and from here
they look like calves,
black and white splotches
moving through the wet grass,
tails wagging
like it's spring.
For a second
I'm back on the ranch.
Then I'm back here.
Fall hasn't even
officially started
and I'm already thinking
about winter.
No more golf.
No warm afternoons
walking the course
with a little white ball
in my pocket.
I never got into
ice fishing.
Some people love winter.
They talk about snow
like it's a postcard,
a Norman Rockwell
frozen moment.
I've never been fooled.
I know what comes
after the leaves
and the last warm days.
My mom died in winter.
Fuck you,
brutal December.
Maybe that's part of it.
Maybe every winter
carries something
we lost
under its shiny white coat.
And maybe that's why
three gray days
of rain
can make a man
sit at his desk
on a Sunday morning
and stare out the window,
waiting for a season
that lasts
too damn long.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 1st, 2026 07:47
- Comment from author about the poem: I am so pleased to announce that my latest book, Searching for Nod, is available now on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Searching-Nod-Thomas-W-Case/dp/B0HLMKLS9L/ref=tmm I posted a reading from my latest book on my YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/@ThomasWCase
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 40
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, Teddy.15, turningpoint, Cheeky Missy
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Comments12
I share that feeling my friend too long in the North too many snow days shoveling walks sliding on ice out of control in a car on the road that isn't going to make it up the hill. No winter is not for me. Nicely written with great images it speaks of loss and death and I try not to think of that it will come soon enough on its own. My kids love it being raised in the sun but we all seem to like what we never had for me it is sun, beaches, blossoms, fruit and a warm room. Lovely Thomas
Thank you, my friend. I appreciate you.
You are always welcome glad to share a poetic relationship with a fellow poet
Excellent, Tom. Winter gets a mixed reception in my chest, about 50/50.
Thank you.
Welcome Thomas 👍🏻🕊️
I was very cheery I said to someone in December, 'Cheer up; January will be worse!' lol. (Did I, or was I telling porkies?).
Funny stuff. Thanks, my friend.
Thomas, this one got under my skin. What starts as a gray Sunday morning ends up opening a door to something much heavier. That kind of seasonal grief is real as hell. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
It is. Thanks, my friend.
Was she cruella? Hey Thomas such fabulous imagery and emotion love every stanza I'd say that sun was waiting for a hot date with the writer, eventually the gray opening to sunshine and sunsets. 🌹
Thank you, sweet Teddy.
I'm like the bear in winter, I grab a load of fish and honey and hibernate till spring.
Lol. Thanks, my friend.
Like you Thomas, I hate Winter. I often look at the Golf Course in the Next Town during
Winter. It looks so forlorn. Empty. Awaiting the Spring.
Winter only looks good on Christmas Cards. The Reality is different.
An enjoyable Read as always.
Thank you, kind sir.
My Pleasure.
Balls to snow and especially its resultant slush. Haven't experienced this for many years, and it's location at that time was London, which could , compared with other parts, qualify me as a wimp. You have a habit of painting a detailed location with very well ssorted words. Thanks once more.
Thank you, my friend.
very well put and is true
Thanks
Hello, Thomas,
Three grey days, that damn harbinger of the ills and tribulations of winter, naked trees even the weeds die, captured perfectly in this very fine poem of yours. December: an empty golf course, says it all. Very well done indeed.
Kind regards,
Tony.
Thank you, my friend.
Charming. Mine passed the day after her birthday in January. I keep piling up memories from horrifying events every single winter until these haunt me. What is it about the rain I love that it dredges these hellish moments I'm dreading? Beautifully rendered with excellent imagery and a haunting poignancy. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you.
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