Perfect Weather by Benjamin Blake

The crows’ cry brings in the new day
As I slip into torn jeans
I woke up feeling the most alive in weeks
Absent from my daily head-ache delivered by too many drinks
Sitting down on worn front steps
Just below the balcony
Balding branches loose their grasp on leaves
Then they spiral to the ground
And inside, I can’t help but smile
When I realize
I enjoy the sunflowers more when it’s overcast

Benjamin Blake

Benjamin Blake wines, dines, reads, walks, and writes from the North Island wilds of New Zealand. He’s also the author of A Prayer for Late October, Reciting Shakespeare with the Dead, and Southpaw Nights.

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