It’s official, Spring is here.
Scrubbing the floor with the radio on,
I was surprised at how sad I was to hear the news.
It felt intrusive, like the trumpeted arrival of
a chatty little debutante in a strapless dress.
Winter, I’m going to miss you,
my dowdy, woolen friend.
We are such a comfortable pair, you and I.
When I needed to listen to the shy new thoughts
budding in the shadows of my grief
you spread your thick white cloak
to muffle the static of the world
and the noisy reconstruction of my heart.
When I needed to shout,
You raged and howled with me.
When I was empty and cold
you lowered the sun to shine in on me.
When I was beyond tired
You convinced the night to arrive early.
Now Spring flounces in,
with her invitations and her fresh cut grass
and I can no longer hide behind your
your slippery roads and icy paths.
I know you must go.
I‘ll wait for you to return.
Until then, I’ll wade back into
the stream of life
and let the currents pull me along.
I’ll plant seeds and pull weeds.
I’ll paddle far out to sea
and catch the cool breezes.
And when the leaves
have relinquished their bright glory,
I’ll spin and skip one last barefoot dance
On those golden decks.
I’ll put the garden to bed
and carry away the porch chairs.
I’ll stack wood,
and sweaters smelling of cedar chests.
So when at last you arrive,
carrying with you the breaths
of some far exotic land,
I can wrap you around me
and listen, and shout, and sleep.
Written in 2010 for my caregiver website, "Don't Lose Heart."
Copyright ©Jean Fogelberg
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