Did you know there’s a National Beer Day? I didn’t, but I do now. And yes, of course I’m celebrating. Here’s a silly poem to prove it.
For you, O Mighty Brew, libation of fierce warriors and humble monks alike, we celebrate this day.
Quencher, and friend, foe, and consoler, partner in pleasure, in sadness, and (sometimes, perhaps) in crime (we won’t speak of that now…), you are a time in yourself, a moment of fizzy bliss, of foamy joy.
You, Oh Ancient Potion, are powerful, potable, volatile magic. You make us brave (but foolish). You make us wise (for a while).
To you, I tip my hat. And then drop it. Thanks for that.
little scribbles tea and pictures cloudy day and a notebook page tiny flowers welcome the spring take a moment reminisce write and read and daydream a letter for every raindrop
I carry it with me, this bag of bones, of broken down building blocks. These I have gathered, these moldering bits of a million little memories, times and places and people, thousands over the course of a life, tucked away for safekeeping. It drags behind me, clatters and clacks in a diabolical cacophony. Always I carry this calcified collection, but only a few can see, and those few know the weight of it themselves. They carry their own bones in sacks, dangling from weary hands. Why is not the question. It is when. When to open it? And which. Which to choose? And how. How to fit that one fragile bit into the puzzle just so. Oh yes, the burden is heavy, and every day it grows. But for those who carry the bags, curate the bones and create new skeletons, there is no greater treasure.
To you, the women, the warriors and weavers and witches and wanderers, the brave and bold who came before, I promise this:
My light will magnify your light. I will shine because you reached for the sky and grabbed the sun and moon and stars to fight the darkness.
Your words, your courage, your heart, your home – the one you made with your own hands – will live on in me.
I will stand and speak. My voice will carry as yours, over the mountains you climbed, across the sands of time and the pillars and platforms you built. I won’t make myself small just to fit into the corners of a world made and sustained by mothers.
I cradle your wisdom in my soul because you carved a place for it. I will keep that place sacred and whole. I will nurture the fire you lit and pass the eternal torch.
Leonine you are, we say, but today, only light – winds, clouds, gray, mild sunshine, and a breezy chill in the air. Perhaps you’re saving energy, waiting for better prey – a colder, wetter, wilder moment, a time to truly roar, to give a little more of your royal self. You’ll pounce then, claws and jaws and teeth and trouble, and surprise us all.
*I had planned to post a sweet song for Valentine’s Day yesterday, and then a poem today. But time got away from me yesterday, as it so often does, and well, here we are. So, here’s a sort of love poem, and a video of me singing some Gillian Welch by the fire. I hope you enjoy both! And if you’re in the US and in the line of fire – er, ice – with this latest winter storm, stay safe and warm!*
Dear Someone, I don’t need you, but I’d like to meet you nonetheless.
It might be fun, Dear Someone, to see where things could go, but no, I’m not waiting for you. See, I’ve got other things to do.
It’s a big universe, after all, Dear Someone, and who can say who meets who and when. Though I hope we do, eventually, some time, someday, maybe.
And so, Dear Someone, whoever you are, if by chance we stumble across each other at some party or in some bar, I’m open to the possibility.
Well, here we are again, expecting winter weather – not just snow, also ice. Hopefully not as much as last time, but we’ll see.
We are supposed to get a couple of inches of snow, so I’m excited for that, at least.
I’ll be recording a podcast episode this afternoon, so I hope I get to watch it snow while I chat with my friend and we create something good. That would be nice. But again, we’ll see. (And if you want to listen to the podcast, here’s a link to it on Spotify: Better Friendships on Spotify.)
Anyway, here are a couple of things I wrote thinking about the incoming storm.
While lying in bed last night, unable to sleep, anxious about the weather:
We’re expecting ice again today.
Please just make it go away.
Not a winter wonderland,
not fun, like playing in the sand.
Just slick and heavy and dangerous.
I really hope it misses us.
And something a little more thoughtful, after my first cup of coffee:
A beautiful danger
makes slow and steady progress –
tree limbs press down and strain
against the weight of it,
as if the whole world could break.
This glistening villain,
freezing fingers and frigid breath,
holds a glinting blade behind its back
and betrays all who love the cold.
I love winter, but these ice storms are killing me. I’m still holding out hope that before the end of the season, we’ll see some snow. Fingers crossed!
A Virginia Writer's Diary 