Change

By Mark W. Swarthout

Dripping, sagging piles of snow
Blackened with dirt and soot
Streaking the macadam with wet.

The Blacktop is anything but black
Salt rings the last visages of ice
Waiting for rain to wash it away.

Constant temperature changes
Buckle pavement and feed potholes
Making the ride uncomfortable.

Warmth can be smelled in the wind
A scent of hope and promises
The odor of growth and renewal.

Embrace the changes
Endure the ugliness and dirt
For the mud brings growth.

Change is a painful reality
In life, as well as the seasons.
Without change, all life ends.