it gets cold then warm

then cold again.

brookie and I spent the long weekend with her lovely old camera.

  


I've always figured February had something against me. Something about the word "doldrums" that seems to epitomize the very generally grey feeling that wraps its tentacles around the month and anyone living in it and refuses to let go. Can't you feel it? It told me to come home and go back to bed today, so I obeyed. And then to take a bath and then to go back to bed again. Oh February, you naughty, restless thing.
 And this mostly snowless winter has suddenly become a snowy one. And then springy and warm. And then snowy again.

I wrote a poem about it [or about the evasive something inside me that just wanted to be written about] a couple Sundays ago. Enjoy.

snow falls
deathly quiet--
doesn't anyone else want to scream?

the window protects us
from the chaotic wash of white,
and inside we talk of God.

I am so alone in here.
I am so cold in here.
But I see Him out there--
tickling the trees til the branches break.

Those who listen do so on
hand palms,
heads loll in lethargic worship
and God blows past in silence.

Where does He live in Winter?
We see Him risen so effortlessly in Spring--
in Daffodils and Blades of Grass,
in the resurrected sun that cradles
our newborn love.

Can we find Him in the
hard sky, solid ground, blank dawn?
Where does He live when all life
is gone?

Does He sleep in the silent snow?

We wait to awaken.
We listen with dull ears and
frosty hearts;
We shut the door til Spring.