In November
the comforting feel
of soft, warm flannel
subdued burgundies,
browns and blues
were soothing
to my fingers.
But now this fabric
becomes a burden
weighing me down.
Somber colors
fade too easily
into cold tenebrous fog
of endless winter.
I yearn to delight
in the smooth texture
of polished cotton
and those gay bright
colors of spring that
leap onto the pallet
of my creations.
© 1998 Anne Johnson
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