I wanted a wintry winter.
Well, seems I might get it in spring.
It’s a funny, frustrating thing,
that we can’t rely on Virginia’s weather,
fickle and peculiar as it is.
But at least there’s this:
Foxes in the meadow,
deer under the willow,
velvet gray skies and
a fire’s crackling glow,
and warmer days ahead.
(I hope.)
I’m thankful for the wild things.
The dew that slicks the blades of grass,
the bee at his work,
the birds who fill the air with song,
the kits in their den dreaming of play
and the deer in the meadow bathed in snow –
outside my door,
a whole world turns not in days and hours,
but in moments,
seasons and sensations.
In the changing of the leaves,
the rising and setting sun,
these little lives go on and on
until they don’t,
and then, like a breath between words,
they’re gone.
How much we could learn
from the brave, wild things,
if we’d only each take time
to wait and watch,
to sit patiently with
the silence before the storm,
the crickets’ evening concerto,
the breeze through the fields,
the morning’s cacophony.
They exist, not for us to see
as a space apart,
but with us, in us.
We, too, could be brave, wild things.
We know it in our hearts.
Well, it seems
this is it:
The closest I’ll get
this winter to seeing snow.
So, hello little lovely.
I truly am glad you’re here,
though I wish more for your namesake
at this point in the year.
Still, I suppose,
you’re no less dear to the season.
And I know,
at the end of the day,
a fall or a flower
is just no choice of mine to make.
I’ve written a few love poems,
but this one’s just for you:
Valentine,
glad you’re mine,
grateful for our time
together.
See, I’m not so good at
love poems,
am I?
Though, whether or not that’s true,
it doesn’t matter.
I could write
thousands of words,
send them out into the universe,
make them new every day,
spin them out of threads and star stuff,
and build a million little love stories
infinite webs and lines and paths
just for us.
And it still wouldn’t be
enough
to show you how much
I love you.
It’s been a while since I participated in one of Rebecca’s poetry challenges over at Fake Flamenco, and I’m excited to get back to it. This month’s challenge is to write a tanka poem about a friend or companion animal. And you know how I feel about friendship. 😊 So here are my contributions, because it seems like I can never write just one.
Today, I called you
just to say hello and chat
about life and stuff.
It was a small moment, but
those small moments make a life.
Wherever we go
together, that’s home for me.
Home isn’t a place,
see, because instead it’s love
that makes a home in our hearts.
If you’d like to participate, as well, you’ve got until Sunday, February 5th. I think you should! I always enjoy these, and reading everyone’s poems is definitely the best part.
Over the race
and into the woods,
just down the forest path –
there we’ll go.
In search of adventure,
in search of snow,
we’ll step and turn
and twirl and dance.
We’ll take this chance.
And if, along the way,
we find
a journey or a day,
we’ll know –
we were meant to be here
in this winter wonderland.
Will you join us?
Then take my hand.
I’m not that fond of summer.
I’m quite okay with spring.
Fall is a time for magic,
and winter is my scene.
But as I sit here waiting,
as far as winters go,
I think this one’s been boring
because we’ve had NO SNOW!
Okay, but seriously, it’s looking like we’ll see no snow at all this winter. I can’t lie – I’m really disappointed. We’ve had some very cold weather, and then some relatively warm weather, winter-wise, and we’ve had some rain, and some fog, oddly enough, but absolutely zero snow. I know this happens some years. It’s fine. Maybe it means next year’s winter will be extra beautiful.
In the meantime, at least there’s tea. And books. And fuzzy blankets. And various other cozy winter things.
Sigh.
We write on.
Today, I want the world
to know:
that the sadness won’t beat me,
that the heartbreak won’t stop me,
and the fear of bad things happening
might slow me down,
but I will
keep going.
Even if I have to crawl.
That’s all.
I’ve left this space
blank
for you.
On this page,
in my heart,
I’ll hold this place
open
always.
It isn’t much,
this emptiness –
but it contains multitudes.
It’s all that I can do.
*Thank you for your kind words and condolences. Knowing that you’re out there, thinking of us, just means a lot. Gatsby was one in a million, and I will always, always miss him. He gave us everything he could for his entire long and happy life, and he loved us so much. So in this new year, I aspire to honor him and remember him by loving like he did – unconditionally, and in your face, and completely.*
Welcome, New Year,
and please be kind –
I’ve had enough time
grieving.
I’m tired of
tears and loss,
of waiting,
and of fears that
joy is fleeting.
I hope that things are
better
brighter
in this space you’re making,
and that you bring
new light
and hope.
I’ve done my best,
and I’m still trying,
but a little help
would sure be nice.
We’ll create something
together,
I know.
May it be –
please let it be –
something good.
A Virginia Writer's Diary 