36/52: waiting for a thing they do not want

Through my morning window
I see the trees standing black against the grey sky
naked and stark, and
I am looking for the metaphor for what this means.
They line up in the winter dawn
like Civil War soldiers waiting,
waiting for battle.

I imagine a bed roll over one shoulder
maybe a leaky canteen.
Hungry and tired.

There is no desire to move forward
no desire to move back.
They are just here
waiting.
Waiting for a thing they do not want.