February

Outside,
all is dismal gray,
the yard, the sky
the dirt splattered cars
driving by.
Even homes
that two months ago,
glowed with color and life-
all gray,
as if they’ve given up hope.

Inside,
I keep writing.
It is my way
of walking toward the Light,
of knocking on its door.
It is how I pray.

I am not trying
to convince you of anything.
I wouldn’t even know how.
We each have to find
our own path.

I just keep laying it down
on the page,
scribbling away
until Light’s door opens
once again.
It always does.

By Maria Brady-Smith
Photo by Mike Smith