All things have
(and take)
their time –
to go fallow
and then rise
from root to sky,
to bloom and grow.
Nature shows us –
there is no shame
in a patient cycle of
quiet moments
and many tries.
Bloom (A Poem)
nature
Redbud Season!
It’s officially spring here in my little corner of Virginia. Today, it’s lovely – warm and partly cloudy, a bit breezy, just wonderful. And, most importantly (to me, anyway): it’s redbud season!
That’s a picture from last year, when I posted about the beautiful little redbud tree in our yard. Right now, the blossoms are just getting started.
I love redbuds so much. I just think they’re gorgeous, and nothing makes me think of home quite like they do. And, super cool, the blossoms grow right on the bark.
I only noticed that a couple of years ago. Isn’t that funny? That you can look at something your whole life and still learn something new about it.
Anyway, I plan to enjoy the redbuds in bloom for as long as I can. Winter might be my favorite, but there’s plenty to love about spring, too.
Third Winter
Or maybe fourth? Frankly, I’ve lost count. But it’s cold and flurrying in Virginia today. It was cold and flurrying yesterday, too.
And it’s sunny, and flurrying at the same time, which is very strange. It’s actually sort of beautiful, in a disconcerting way, seeing snow fall against the bright green buds on the willow in our back field. I’d take a picture, but I don’t think I can really capture it.
Suffice it to say: Spring in Virginia is weird, y’all.
*Also, this is a short post, because I’m focusing today on March’s short story, which will be posted on Wednesday. It’s a good one!*
(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: On Virginia Weather
Today, it’s mild, bright and sunny. The crocuses are already blooming, and the daffodils are well on their way. The sky is bluest blue and absolutely cloudless. It’s a beautiful morning.
Hard to believe that just this weekend, things looked very different:
Oh, Virginia, you chaotic darling. I adore you.
One Last Snow Day
Here in Virginia, March always gives us one last snow day. It’s not a hard and fast rule, sure, but it’s true enough, and this year was no exception.
It snowed about five inches on Saturday, and we enjoyed it for as long as we could.
(I know…she doesn’t look like she likes it, but trust me, Annie is a Snow Dog.)
It’s all melted now, and this week is supposed to be pretty warm. I’m ready for spring, but I’m always a little melancholy when winter comes to an end. So, until next year. And for now, bring on the daffodils!
Rain in Winter (A Poem)
Darkened sky and sodden ground,
drops, drips, and downpours –
the sound: a rhythm of life
on cold, hard earth.
The winter rain reminds us,
a damp drumbeat
to tell the world that
spring’s around the corner.
(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: Cute Neighbors Edition
We’ve had a lot more snow so far this month than I thought we would, and it’s been so nice. Graham’s been out in the yard snapping pictures (including the little bird from my last post), and I just had to share this one.
This family of deer lives in the woods behind our house, and they’re…not the best neighbors. They eat pretty much everything, including the blossoms from our fruit trees, and they often get stuck behind fences. We’ve had to rescue them more than once. But, be that as it may, they sure are cute, aren’t they?
Winter Bird (A Poem)
Little one,
the time is now
to sing your winter song.
From your ice-covered perch,
let it carry and fly –
over snow-covered fields
and windswept hills,
deep into the meadows and valleys.
Let the cold wind sweep it
far and wide.
Remind us all that
beauty lives
in frost and bloom alike.
The Language of the Grove (A Poem)
I’d like to know
the language of the grove,
to understand the subtle
conversation of the trees.
To speak without words,
to give and to take
as they need,
to sustain and support
through heat waves and storms –
there’s a special kind of magic
in those ancient roots
and rustling leaves.
Letting Go (A Poem)
What’s left
when the leaves
have fallen
and the grass
has gone fallow?
Once the air’s grown cold
and the night sky’s shifted,
once the frost has
come and covered
the hills and meadows,
what’s left to us
in this new
season of darkness?
To rest, to sleep,
to build a hearth fire,
to watch it snow.
To breathe deep and
release a sigh out
among the coming
winter winds.
These belong to us,
are made for us and
left to us by the maiden
and the mother and the crone.
Just as it begins
when new things grow
in a world made bright,
the old year ends
quiet and star light,
with a gentle
and a loving
letting go.
A Virginia Writer's Diary 