Patient wanderer wrapped wooly thick and warm
The day is coming when the weight will be lifted
Your extra burden will be eased in just a minute
The buzz will terrify but the outcome’s the coolest
That’s cool “amazing” as well as cool “nearly naked”
They’ll whisk the plunder away to weave wonderful
Warmth and style and blankets and sweaters and
Wonder as your full fluffiness is memorialized
Please explain dear mother the havoc you have dropped
Eighty on Saturday Fifty on Sunday Snow on Tuesday
Me in heavy overcoat past April tax day feeling ninety
Sporting dull winter colors as we race toward summer
The resilience of daffodils still standing after typhoon
Torrents rain down drenching buckets from emptying
Clouds on fragile yellow petals still blinking eyes open
Admonishing ceaseless complaints by grumpy humans
With less flexibility than fleeting soggy yellow flowers
“Buck up chilly humans,” says the heartless mother
“If this is the worst thing you have to adjust to, you
Clearly have no idea how lucky you are today. Consider
A little delay and lagging warm temperatures a tiny
Sample of the pandemonium I have in my repertoire“
A lightening bolt and thunder clap exclamation point
Flashes bright and booms loud as she walks away
They were everywhere that cloudy evening
Gasping dusk beauty in every direction
Straight up vertical geyser sprays
Interspersed with barnacle covered
Dripping wet tails gracefully curved
Before the perfect Greg Louganis dive
Sucking a churning watery sink hole
Disappearing black with random white spots
Nature’s quiet clear reminder that even
Quintessential beauty is blemished
The weather is perfectly spring, finally warm in yellow and pink,
Combined with Friday and it’s a traffic jam and fender bender
Festival with turtle slow lines of window open cars slowly inching.
Daffodils and cherry blossoms in bright sun apparently impair driving.
I turned from the office in plenty of time for my morning appointment
Onto the highway with one clear mile before hitting multiples of brake light
Red and a snaking line of impatience and heat and loud music and lip-syncing.
My creeping minutes were spent recalculating likely late arrival times.
At the 20-minute mark I made the call I won’t be there today please meet
Without me I’ll get the story later. “Thank you” with fire truck flashing lights
In sight. Up the hill slowly I inched past the crunched grey Prius, taking my
Rubber necking turn then speeding for an unplanned Smoothie King lunch.
The afternoon was summer hot with small breezes and puffy pollen clouds.
My last meeting was at 4:15 but I was early and settled in to relax and wait.
I waited. And waited. Those poor people traveling the interstate from Philly
With the beach bound in mass-exodus in this first spring beautiful weekend.
Triple travel time clocked but cheerful smiles disembarked and greeted me
Despite their time in slow moving lines of finger tapped steering wheels.
“Take your time” I said “enjoy your visit” I suggested and savored the reminder
Of the “empty boats” wisdom story by these blithe good-natured travelers.
The bridge rumbled loud above our heads
As we scoured rocky Maine tidepools
Seeking starfish amidst the copious golden kelp
Flipping stones, scaling boulders, puddle jumping
Searching for life signs beneath clinging shells
Slip-sliding our way nearer the churning sea
Mist not rain dampened our slickers and
Fogged my glasses, wiping away drops while
Seeking the five pointed cherished prize
A champion photo op of the highest degree
All the time knowing while precariously climbing
The full emersion exploration is our actual joy
Sun bleached skeleton trees scream for veiling green
Stark light sears bright cutting razor sharp slices
A warm, inviting mirage deceives icy raw skin
As brisk winds pour winter temperatures into spring
A roaring March lion lingers long and relentless
Early March’s symbol may retreat some day. Soon. Please.
6:20 Saturday morning.
Warm bed in the late fall chill.
Pierre meows to come in.
Ignoring him is futile.
I rise, groggy, resolved to return.
Then, a glimmer of splendor.
Our entry glows orange.
A ripe peach burst sky.
A glorious greeting.
Golden sun streaks shift.
A momentary quandary.
(My camera bag is in the car)
Shocking cold bare foot dash.
Plaid flannel rustles.
Damp grass amplifies the chill.
But, the bracing beauty.
A greedy gulp of magic.
Thank you Pierre.
When I moved the tin trough with the two flowerpots of forest green leaves from under the tree by the driveway to the table on the deck I hoped a resurrection of fuchsia flowers would cascade over the edges of the container within just a few days. In the beginning the small pink flowers had been thick and resolute under the tree in the pan next to the big pot of towering mixed greens and perky white impatience. But the rosy blooms didn’t stand a chance against the insatiable deer. The ravenous bands made short order of the blossoms, leaving behind a sea of unadorned spiny spinach colored leaves. My rescue came late and the bitten through stubs left thick brown islands in a sage sea. Weeks have passed since the emancipation with no sign of burgeoning buds. I worried the deer damage was immutable and the summer would wind down without a renaissance.
But this morning…a perfect tight bud. I’ve named it “my little pink hope” atop a sea of green rubble.
A bud’s concise anticipatory life stops time
Bracing nature in fresh shades
Briefly hushing agitated hands
Pea, grass, apple, chartreuse
Or simply green
Capturing all the subtle variances
The bursting season’s allure
Unnoticed by terrified passersby
Hauling rigid earlobe hanging shoulders
Reflexively, uncontrollably elevated
Slowing, breathing, stretching, meditating
In pursuit of a clear mind
All attempts at calm fizzle
As enormous bombs explode
Without a plan
Is there a plan?
Clearly no considered plan
Or thoughtful musing
Where rational care is needed
We observe as helpless hostages
Of a locked-in nuclear staring contest
Teetering on hair-trigger volatility
Our country’s fate trapped in erratic hands
Stranded by hopeless fear
And knotted stomach loathing
Eerie prospects cloud our brains
Smothering springtime pleasure