Grief is like springtime in Nebraska:
You wake up to enjoy a sunny day at the lake.
The water, sky, and crisp air
Blow kisses
Inviting you
To breathe again.
The stark gray winter has passed.
The next moment, you’re seeking shelter in a bathtub
While tornado sirens wail.
I love the comparison you make in this poem. The last two lines paint the perfect, heartbreaking picture.