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.
winter
A Silly Snow Poem
…for a day when my brain is just fried. Good news – we found a food Gatsby will eat! Bad news – it smells absolutely, nose-numbingly terrible. What can you do? Drink coffee and write silly poetry, that’s what!
I think the universe should know
that I would like to see some snow.
Though I don’t mind a winter rain,
I’d like some flakes to fall again.
I love a warm and breezy day,
but it’s a while ‘til June and May.
So sometime between now and then,
let’s get some winter on again
and satisfy those folks rarest
who love the cold and snow the best.
(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.
Three Winter Haiku
Pink sky, white landscape
Sun rises on a bright day
Winter greets the world
A storm overnight
Red berries in sparkling ice
Dangerous beauty
Cold winter moonlight
Stars on a velvet canvas
Silence in the fields
Snow Melt (A Poem)
I know the beauty
of snow
is fleeting,
but it’s sad just the same
to watch it melt away
under a bright, warm
winter sun
and return to the earth
to one day fall again.
Until then,
I’ll wait.
New Light (A Poem)
Through the gate and
into the cold winter world,
the New Year comes to greet the Old.
Not to replace or relive,
but revive –
tired hands,
tired hearts,
tired minds –
and bring new light
to the darkest days.
The First Snow Day of 2022
What an utterly unexpected and incredibly lovely surprise!
And quite a nice way to start the new year, I think.
Until yesterday, forecasters predicted this fast-moving snowstorm would go south of us, but here it is. And I am so happy.
I hadn’t planned a busy day today, anyway – Graham’s off of work until tomorrow – but I think I shall officially declare today a Snow Day, and spend it reading, drinking tea, generally lazing about in my pajamas, and gazing out on this beautiful and fleeting winter landscape.
Yes. Perfect.
Snow Bust
Well, I’m not even surprised. It’s a running joke in the DC metro area and Northern Virginia that we live in a snow hole. It can snow all around us, and we’ll see nothing but clouds.
And, yeah…
Let me back up.
See, about a week ago, the weather powers that be were predicting 1-3 inches of snow today. Not enough to cause major problems, but enough to coat the ground and look nice. And, living in Virginia, I’ll take what I can get in terms of snowy weather. But, as usual, over the last few days, predictions dwindled to perhaps an inch, then maybe a dusting, and now, nothing at all. Nary a flake nor flurry to be found.
Sigh.
Am I disappointed? Yes, I am. But there’s a lot of winter left, and I’m nothing if not an eternal optimist. This one’s a bust, but tomorrow is always another day.
The Last of the Year (A Poem)
The last of the year,
the shortest of days,
a high bright moon
in a new winter haze –
December descends,
the darkest of months,
in stoic shades
of white and gray.
But there’s beauty
in the spartan landscape
and comfort in the cold air:
a peaceful silence,
a slant of light,
a joy in rest
and in the hope of
fresh fallen snow,
a gift in the season of giving
and a spirit in knowing
the season is fleeting.
All things must
come to an end,
and in ending can
begin again.
A Virginia Writer's Diary 