Winter Evolved ~ Now Wave Goodbye to Spring!

Sharing a Handful of Poems As We Prepare To Greet  Summer

Pity Party In A Blizzard

woman in jeans and red high heels shovels snow with a red shovel

Back curved like a bow
Against the blustery wind
Face yearning to sprout fur
For protection from the freeze
Eyes slitted against pellets of snow
Lashes crusted with miniature ice daggers

I try to breathe.

The arctic chill slams down my throat
Swirling into my lungs to set the stage for later coughing.
Swollen, aching fingers clench a circle around the splintery handle.
I trudge forward in careful, stubby steps, remembering past pratfalls.
Wads of tissue fatly stuffed into each pocket for a runny nose.

Where are all the men?
Those women have husbands!
Where are all the men?
Why aren’t the kids building snowmen?
Why am I out here all alone?
Why am I always alone?

Heavily hyping the best storm yet,
Meteorologists urge us to
“Stay indoors!”
“Get a young person to do it!”
Second-leading weather-related killer:
Heart attacks from shoveling snow.

I tell myself, “I’m only 56.”
No child in sight
No money to pay one any ole’ way.
Back hurt before I went out
This ought to loosen it up
If it doesn’t kill me.

So, I . . .

Stoop, scoop, and toss

Stoop, scoop, and toss . . .

Reveling in the fact that
All my muscles obey my commands
Reveling in the strength of body and will
Thanking God every step of the way,
” I still can do this!”

‘Cuz, if I don’t, who will?

huge pile of shoveled snow

“Snowmageddon”

Post Script: rinse and repeat every year even at age 75


Musings from the Tall Deck in Spring


Spring At Last – 2019

bare limbed treesBare brown trees with a little green against bare earth and a huge rock

 

 

 

 

Finally, Spring comes to the mountain!
Bare-ish beige trees still look like
Thousands of skinny jeans
Upside down.

But, cotton candy poofs
of soft green budding leaves
Adorn the otherwise naked branches
Giving hope to the flagging spirits
Of man and hungry beasts.

Starting anew,
While not forgetting lessons of bygone days,
We forge ahead (man and beasts)
As if the fate that awaits each of us
Has a chance of being wonderful.


Spring’s Promise

pink cherry blossom flowers against a blue sky pink Jane Magnolia flowers against a blue sky Close-up pink Jane Magnolia flowers against a blue sky

 

 

 

 

It is Spring at last!
The whole world sighs with relief.

The fresh air is exhilarating.
Surrounded by newly budding trees,
I sit atop a 10’ tall deck
Surveying the squirrels
And newly hatching leaves
At eye level.

I take a moment,
Savoring hard-boiled eggs,
Speckled with salt and pepper droppings,
And allow the sip of hazelnut coffee
To flood my teeth and taste buds,
I hold it there, gently sloshing,
To relish those singular flavors.

My “new” red car
Is fuzzy with the yellow of pollen
Requiring windshield wipers
On even the driest days.

Spring.
Renewal.
Fresh start.
I’m alone.
Reluctantly, I contemplate the
Overwhelming chores
Because the plants won’t wait
Now that they’ve been dowsed
In torrents of rain.

I muse.
Every year, I say I will
Sit outside and enjoy the woods
For longer than three minutes.
I’ll become one with nature,
Listen to the birdsong,
Go barefoot in the grass,
Remember my roots.

Every year, I don’t.
I work, instead.

May this year be the exception.


You Can Do It Anywhere

close-up of blue eye with dark lashes

You CAN do it anywhere,
(indoors and outdoors)
But, on the tall Deck, it is easier.

If you unfocus your eyes,
You might see the gazillion molecules of air
Zip zapping everywhere
In constant motion.

You are seeing the Unseen.

Just like there are sounds
Outside a human’s range of hearing,
There are sights,
Outside our typical range of seeing.
But, I have done it.
I have seen it.
Maybe you can, too.

It’s magical.


Scanning the Horizon from the Tall Deck

bees on yellow flowers

The breeze flutters new-born leaves
As if they were trembling with excitement
At seeing their new surroundings.

***

Birds, speaking in their own Morse Code,
Propel their piercing messages
In musical arrays.
Like a choir,
They employ Call and Response
Then, abruptly, take wing,
Speeding through a tangle of branches,
Undeterred, unconfused, unhurt.

***

Bumblebees hover
Jerking twistfully to point in new directions
Like an NFL robot camera.
Their noses are powdered with yellow pollen.
They sound so scary upon approach,
But, really, they are not interested in you.

***
Blue sky for once!
Beautiful sunlight graces the leaves
From the East.
A painter’s dream
A dreamer’s delight.

***
Post Storm
The Unwelcome, Unrelenting, Undaunted
Roar of a sore-throated buzz saw
Screams through the air
Shattering the peace and all concentration.

The birds are unphased.
Blossoms still spew forth their new life riches.
The soft air tickles my neck
With tendrils from my long hair.
I ignore the saw.
All is well.


The Raccoon People

It’s early morning on a rare sunny Spring day.
I assume the position:
Sitting in a wicker deck chair,
Coffee resting on the tiny table,
along with my right arm and a citron candle.
A seashell-shaped fountain burbles away on the sidelines,
Bringing good cheer to the atmosphere.

I’m surrounded by red, yellow, and cobalt blue
Plant pots,
Attempting to save the prize specimens
From the ravages of deer appetites.
Oh well,
Now, there are new problems.

The raccoons will make their midnight run
To go bowling with those beautiful pots
And to wash their muddy paws
In all the cat water dishes.

When caught,
They’ll bustle up to the glass door,
Reaching for me,
Inquisitively trying to figure out
Who I am and why I am here,
Interrupting their playtime
With wildly gesticulating arms
And Shooshes.

There is a new crop of babies each year.
They tumble gleefully all over themselves
And the furniture,
Dragging pillows to new homes
Unscrewing light bulbs,
Munching on things that are not food.

Today, an entire brush-style wipe-your-boots mat
Was shredded to muddy bits.
Who was making a nest?
The raccoons?
The local black bears?
It was a big job.
Somebody had to do it.


Broken Branches

 

 

 

 

Broken branches
Victims of storms,
Lie in crooked shapes –
Diagonally, Horizontally
And Every Which Way But Up –
Leaning on those others
Strong enough to hold them
So they don’t hit the ground.

They’re a lot like people in that regard.

Swinging precariously at every breeze
And pounce of the chasing squirrels,
They finally succumb and “hit bottom.”

They’re a lot like people in that regard.

But, even when they crash,
They become a haven for insects
And other small critters …
Who won’t grow
Too big to contain.

They’re a lot like people in that regard.

Still, from decay and destruction,
New life can spring in Spring.
Seeds of one’s Essential Nature
Have been planted within
And may prevail.

They’re a lot like people in that regard.


In other words, Dahlings, we survived Winter, have been rejuvenated by Spring, and now let’s be fully awake and active for the Summer! Even if we have been broken or bruised by our experiences, we can find new ways in which to be productive and to love ourselves at any and all stages of Life.

Do It The Write Way! Let My Fingers Do Your Talking!

 

 

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