I’m a little distracted by Super Bowl activity right now, even though my interest is minimal to nil. Still, my family is gathered around the TV and we’re set to play some games in a bit. Since I write my Mama Mondays posts on Sunday evening, I’m going to pull a nugget from my back pocket for today. But if you’re a word lover and stuck somewhere cold right now, I think you’ll enjoy this as much as I did when a friend shared it with me a few days back. I’m still savoring the thought of a thaw, even more so now.
Peace be with you all in the week ahead!
that fall, one by one, like clocks ticking, from
the icicles along the eaves. For shift and shrinkage,
including the soggy gray mess on the deck
like an abandoned mattress that has
lost its inner spring. For the gurgle
of gutters, for snow melting underfoot when I
step off the porch. For slush. For the glisten
on the sidewalk that only wets the foot sole
and doesn’t send me slithering. Everything
is alert to this melting, the slow flow of it,
the declaration of intent, the liquidation.
breaking the darkness with their green beaks.
For moles and moths and velvet green moss
waiting to fill the driveway cracks. For the way
the sun pierces the window minutes earlier each day.
For earthquakes and tectonic plates—earth’s bump
and grind—and new mountains pushing up
like teeth in a one-year-old. For melodrama—
lightning on the sky stage, and the burst of applause
that follows. Praise him for day and night, and light
switches by the door. For seasons, for cycles
and bicycles, for whales and waterspouts,
for watersheds and waterfalls and waking
and the letter W, for the waxing and waning
of weather so that we never get complacent. For all
the world, and for the way it twirls on its axis
like an exotic dancer. For the north pole and the
south pole and the equator and everything between.
Q4U: What about the spring thaw do you most look forward to?