Apr 2010
March began with snow on the mountains
winter's remnant of bitter white.
Yet just a months passing
and all the world is new.
Down by the river
the air seems like
a gray green mist
of new leaves just sprouting.
Some birds…I've never seen them
have moved into the air conditioner,
their babies squawk and scream
for their dinner like all babies do.
I sit and watch the gray green mist
ascend up the mountains,
and sure as season's turning
I'll watch the autumn colors descend.
As I get older that cycle;
the living and the dying,
gives me all the meaning I need,
but aren't beginnings lovely?
winter's remnant of bitter white.
Yet just a months passing
and all the world is new.
Down by the river
the air seems like
a gray green mist
of new leaves just sprouting.
Some birds…I've never seen them
have moved into the air conditioner,
their babies squawk and scream
for their dinner like all babies do.
I sit and watch the gray green mist
ascend up the mountains,
and sure as season's turning
I'll watch the autumn colors descend.
As I get older that cycle;
the living and the dying,
gives me all the meaning I need,
but aren't beginnings lovely?
I remember one autumn in Maine when I was young. The weather perfect, the air cool and crisp and the leaves were magnificent. I was waxing poetic about it to an old fisherman. He looked at me and said yep...gonna be winter soon. I was stunned. I had forgotten all about winter in the beauty of the season.- From Poetry Jam (on Toast)
