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The road is dry, the trees are still-- The big snow storm, in forecast only, not for real. I sigh in relief-- what a lucky escape. I'm having chionophobia-- the fear of snow, and the dirty road afterwards. She says, "Me too. We don't have snow either-- only freezing rain. Two colleagues with Omicron here-- I work from home again. Take care." Several years ago, she sought my advice. "No. Don't do it." I gave her my conservative opinion. I was reading Eliot at the time who says that a moment's dare cannot be retracted by an age of prudence. I've regretted it ever since. It's not about her, since she probably wouldn't listen to me anyway. It's about me-- I'm so disappointed in myself. Am I the flightless bird, who dreams of flying, but will never fly?
Haoyan Do 
You combine storytelling and poetry so beautifully 🧡
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Thank you for your sweet comment.
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A lovely poem about choices and caution and finding the right time to fly. 🙂
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So true. Right time to fly and if the time is ripe…
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A lovely one. It’s alright to be safe and grounded. One can fly anytime, but falling and crashing can take a long time to get over. Use that sixth sense. 🙂
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Thank you. Haha. Sometimes one is just a flightless chicken and there’s no point flying. So true. Flying and crashing can be traumatic, and many of us don’t get a second chance. So we have to be careful.
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