Sun glides low across the sky;
Despite late rising, soon to set.
Scant light filters through the gloom
Diluted ‘til there’s no warmth left.
Still, give credit for the effort.
Kindle carefully the spark.
Perhaps tomorrow will be better, and
I’ll rise higher from the dark.
In response to
The gray sky is low, pushing down on me as my dog and I sidestep puddles in our path. A sense of sadness seeps onto me, settling like heavy mist on a wool coat. Unexplainable loneliness rises up as though from the rain-dampened earth and I am enveloped in a fog of… it almost feels like despair … that I know is not my own. My dog, a double-coated spitz, shakes his body in a spasm that sprays rain water off him in all directions. My pants leg is flecked with tiny droplets. Arriving home, I unbuckle his leash and dry him with a towel. He shakes again and the moisture from his undercoat surfaces. I touch his fur; it’s as wet as though I hadn’t wiped him down at all. If I were to sift my fingers through his thick coat down to the skin, it would be dry and warm. I, conversely, am cold and shivering and wet. An involuntary shudder courses through me, as my psyche tries to shake the melancholy from my soul.
Spring came early.
Daffodils sent up blunt shoots.
Yellow buds perched atop short stalks.
Pushing right through autumn’s detritus,
spring defied winter’s chilly winds.
But winter sent a heavy-handed greeting:
a caress of snow, an icy kiss of welcome
and – most likely –
of goodbye.
The gravel path encircling the dog park is churned to mud. Wood chips, spread last season to fill in low spots, now form a waterlogged sponge underfoot. The sky, pale blue and cloudless, does not belie that we are in mid-dreary-chilly January. It bears a sense of oppression, making one inclined to slouch when walking, as if to clear a low ceiling.
The dogs don’t seem to mind the damp chill. Puddles, gritty mud, soggy clumps of sod… it’s all the same to their weather-hardened paws. There are balls to chase, fence posts to water and all manner of smells to sniff.
After a couple of plodding loops around the field, I catch up to my pup, who has paused to stick his nose up a Doberman’s butt. I latch the leash to his collar and we head out of the park. I sidestep pools of standing water, morosely noting that the rainy season has only just begun. My dog plows straight through the water, tongue flopping, slobber hanging off his chin. He — obviously — has failed to notice that we are in mid-fricking-depressing January.
gnarled bare tree shivers
arthritic branch points skyward
lays blame on winter
to flaunt it’s might and callous heart
winter coils its heavy hand
with whetted shards of tempered ice
impales autumnal sleeping land
in shocked surprise sap runs to ground
bare limbs must hide in rooted place
blending with gray-tinted skies
to weather winter’s raging pace
rough-edged façade belies the life
ensconced beneath the frozen ice
rogue insects wait to till the earth
once released from winter’s vice
at slightest breeze of warming air
winter cedes its thawing ground
blustering in feigned protest
as nature cycles spring around
NaPoWriMo challenge day nine: write a poem in which something big and something small come together. “Big” weather meets “small” life forms.
flakes drift from night sky
snow drift builds against my sill
I drift off to sleep
Cee’s Black & White photo challenge: chilled
puzzling how plants hear
nature’s wake up call so clear
on this winter day
The Daily Post one-word prompt: Puzzled
balmy winter day
sun’s warmth stirs dreams of spring in
hibernating souls
What Rhymes with Stanza? 