Ready (A Poem)

All around, I hear it:
The hum of new life –
of growing things,
buzzing and flying,
a gentle flap of beating wings,
the stir of wind through the blossoms –
this song that each year nature sings.
It seems that here,
in a season and a blur,
no more than a blink,
we are suddenly,
all of us,
ready for spring.

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: Iceland Memories

It’s hard to believe that it’s been four years (FOUR YEARS!) since the last time we traveled internationally. And man, what a trip. Iceland was beautiful.

These pictures were taken on March 15, 2019.

I’d love to go back in the summer, since there was a lot we couldn’t see or do in winter. Maybe one of these days. In the meantime, I’ve got pretty pictures and good memories.

Friday Flowers

It’s rainy today, and cloudy and gray and damp and definitely early spring. But yesterday was beautiful, not particularly warm, but sunny. How nice it was, then, to stumble upon these little beauties in our back garden.

And how lovely, looking at them now, to remember that flowers – like days, people, cats, dogs, and old houses – aren’t all the same.

Virginia Spring (A Poem)

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.)

Wild Things (A Poem)

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.

Snowdrop (A Poem)

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.

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: Hello, little beauties!

Well, I guess I ought to just give up on snow this winter. It’s been warm and sunny and gorgeous this week. I spotted these little lovelies earlier today:

Daffodils! A little early this year, I think? Or maybe not. But it feels early. I suppose they’re ready, though, and honestly, if I can’t have a nice winter snow at this point in the season, I’ll certainly take an early spring.

Winter Daydream (A Poem)

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.

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: The Last Ice Storm

Will history repeat itself?

A couple of years ago, around this time, we had a pretty bad ice storm. We were not prepared, because it was forecasted to just be a light wintry mix. I was really worried our birch tree would crack under the weight of all that frozen stuff, and super anxious that we might lose power.

It didn’t, and we didn’t, but yeah, I don’t like ice. Snow? Yes! Ice? Hard no.

At any rate, it’s looking like we might see some winter weather tomorrow, and what do you know – they’re predicting a wintry mix. So, we’ll see. Fingers crossed it’s not too bad!

Soon (A Poem)

Winter whispers
through the fields
and the forests,
breathes new life
into the silver moon,
soft and steady and still.
Only a tingle of ice,
a mist of frost
in the air,
It says:
Not quite time,
not yet there,
but soon.