Poem about Spokane

Spokane, WA

The grey, far away sky, encompassed over the Little Spokane River,
sun hidden away behind the clouds, and the crisp air cut through lungs.

Dry twigs, grass, and bushes,
brown as the dirt they grew from,
were dried up, cold, and hibernating.

The frosted rains came and went,
joining the ice capped falls of the dam.
Water flowing,
bisecting two land masses.

In the beginning of December
the sky stayed cloudy all the time and Washington
rarely saw the warmth of the sun.
When the clouds drew back,
shimmers of sun would illuminate the river,
sparkle off the white snow,
and feature the brown dirt lining the roads.
Everything surviving winter.