A Walk in March

by Grace Paley 

This hill

crossed with broken pines and maples

lumpy with the burial mounds of

uprooted hemlocks (hurricane

of ’38) out of their

rotting hearts generations rise

trying once more to become

the forest

just beyond them

tall enough to be called trees

in their youth like aspen a bouquet

of young beech is gathered

 

they still wear last summer’s leaves

the lightest brown almost translucent

how their stubbornness has decorated

the winter woods

 

on this narrow path ice tries

to keep the black undecaying oak leaves

in its crackling grip    it’s become

too hard to walk    at last a

sunny patch    oh!    i’m in water

to my ankles   APRIL

One more week and April will be here!  Spring advances!  Went on a walk with my son yesterday and saw an eagle!!!

The Illness

By R. A. Eaton

I’ve caught an illness
but it’s not contagious
not in my house anyway,
perhaps not in many.

I’m stricken with this sickness
several times a year.
It throws me off the track
and takes me from my work.

It seems to grab me
right before a deadline.
I wrestle and fight
but finally succumb…

And clean the house.

Well, been busy with the illness the past few days.  Must be spring cleaning.

 

The Instinct Of Hope

 by John Clare

Is there another world for this frail dust
To warm with life and be itself again?
Something about me daily speaks there must,
And why should instinct nourish hopes in vain?
'Tis nature's prophesy that such will be,
And everything seems struggling to explain
The close sealed volume of its mystery.
Time wandering onward keeps its usual pace
As seeming anxious of eternity,
To meet that calm and find a resting place.
E'en the small violet feels a future power
And waits each year renewing blooms to bring,
And surely man is no inferior flower
To die unworthy of a second spring?

Early Spring

 by Rainer Maria Rilke

Harshness vanished. A sudden softness
has replaced the meadows' wintry grey.
Little rivulets of water changed
their singing accents. Tendernesses,

hesitantly, reach toward the earth
from space, and country lanes are showing
these unexpected subtle risings
that find expression in the empty trees.

Yes!  Early Spring is here!

SING ME A SONG OF HOPE

by Sam Green

Sing me a song of hope

where the angels bless the world

Sing me a song of joy

where everyone has all they need

you poets of this earth

you plow the fields of words

so some think much things

in freedom of construction

in construction of freedom

Sing me a song of living

not blinded by the pain

Sing me a song of being

not bleeding in each others wounds

each may know

each may want

so each may understand

if we are to grow

sing me a song

I Don’t See Old

                                                                  

                                                  by Rhae A Eaton

            

I don’t see old

a sittin’ there

I don’t see wrinkles

or grey hair.

That’s not a wheelchair

not a cane

I don’t see bent

and that’s not pain.

I don’t see knuckles

swollen sore

a mind that wanders

out the door.

I see a story

wantin’ told

with lines of time

emblazoned gold.

I see a chariot

and a staff

an honor earned

along life’s path.

I see a badge

that time has pinned

upon your chest

that says “You Win”!

Today is my mom's 80th birthday so this is a great one to share!  Happy Birthday MOM!!! 

A Few Limericks

by Rhae Eaton

There once was a girl dressed in blue.

Who went to visit the zoo.

She climbed up a stair.

To see a giant bear.

And stepped in a pile of poo.

There once was a girl from Colville.               

Who found in a ditch a big bill.

Says she, "Let's shop!"                                                            

Day's end she did drop.                                                

Two bags were all she could fill.                       

There once was a girl from Colville.              

Who climbed to the top of a hill.

She saw the whole town.    

A long way down.       

And that was a wonderful thrill.   

Ok, that was fun!    

                                                                                                                   

The Cabbage

by Ruth Stone

You have rented an apartment.

You come to this enclosure with physical relief,

your heavy body climbing the stairs in the dark,

the hall bulb burned out, the landlord 

of Greek extraction and possibly a fatalist.

In the apartment leaning against one wall,

your daughter's painting of a large frilled cabbage

against a dark sky with pinpoints of stars.

The eager vegetable, opening itself 

as if to eat the air, or speak in cabbage

language of the meanings within meanings;

while the points of stars hide their massive

violence in the dark upper half of the painting.

You can live with this.

It sounds so easy to walk in the door, see a painting, and write a poem.  It sounds easy, but apartment living is not at all easy and the cabbages in our apartment lives do help us to "…live with this."

Still Here

 by Langston Hughes

I been scared and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
Snow has friz me,
Sun has baked me,

Looks like between 'em they done
Tried to make me

Stop laughin', stop lovin', stop livin'--
But I don't care!
I'm still here!

This is short and to the point!  Hang in there.  I didn't feel like pushing forward today, but "I'm still here!"

Dream Variations

by Langston Hughes

To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.
Then rest at cool evening
Beneath a tall tree
While night comes on gently,
Dark like me-
That is my dream!

To fling my arms wide
In the face of the sun,
Dance! Whirl! Whirl!
Till the quick day is done.
Rest at pale evening...
A tall, slim tree...
Night coming tenderly
Black like me.

Do we all have dreams?  I really like this poem!  I like the rhythm and the message and imagine everyone happy with the day and the night of each other.

Pine Forest

 by Gabriela Mistral

Let us go now into the forest.
Trees will pass by your face,
and I will stop and offer you to them,
but they cannot bend down.
The night watches over its creatures,
except for the pine trees that never change:
the old wounded springs that spring
blessed gum, eternal afternoons.
If they could, the trees would lift you
and carry you from valley to valley,
and you would pass from arm to arm,
a child running
from father to father.

The Gladness of Nature

by William Cullen Bryant

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,
When our mother Nature laughs around;
When even the deep blue heavens look glad,
And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?

There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,
And the gossip of swallows through all the sky;
The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den,
And the wilding bee hums merrily by.

The clouds are at play in the azure space,
And their shadows at play on the bright green vale,
And here they stretch to the frolic chase,
And there they roll on the easy gale.

There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower,
There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree,
There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower,
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.

And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles
On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray,
On the leaping waters and gay young isles;
Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away.

The sun is shining, is shining, and shining here! 

I feel the gladness in this poem: "the clouds are at play in the azure space…a dance of leaves in that aspen bower…a laugh from the brook…"  Yes, "smile thy gloom away."

On Winter's Margin

Mary Oliver - On Winter's Margin

On winter’s margin, see the small birds now

With half-forged memories come flocking home

To gardens famous for their charity.

The green globe’s broken; vines like tangled veins

Hang at the entrance to the silent wood.

With half a loaf, I am the prince of crumbs; 

By snow’s down, the birds amassed will sing

Like children for their sire to walk abroad! 

But what I love, is the gray stubborn hawk

Who floats alone beyond the frozen vines; 

And what I dream of are the patient deer

Who stand on legs like reeds and drink that wind; -

They are what saves the world: who choose to grow

Thin to a starting point beyond this squalor. 

No snow today!  We must be near "winter's margin" or at least close!  I love the simile, "vines like tangled veins" and can just picture a network of vines hanging from the trees. 

Glass

by Robert Francis

Words of a poem should be glass
But glass so simple-subtle its shape
Is nothing but the shape of what it holds.

A glass spun for itself is empty,
Brittle, at best Venetian trinket.
Embossed glass hides the poem of its absence.

Words should be looked through, should be windows.
The best word were invisible.
The poem is the thing the poet thinks.

If the impossible were not,
And if the glass, only the glass,
Could be removed, the poem would remain.

I never thought of a poem as something to "be looked through."  If we look through a poem, is it different on the other side?

It snowed again today, then rain and hail.  All's quiet now.

 

Blue Winter

by Robert Francis 1901 - 1987

Winter uses all the blues there are.
One shade of blue for water, one for ice,
Another blue for shadows over snow.
The clear or cloudy sky uses blue twice-
Both different blues. And hills row after row
Are colored blue according to how for.
You know the bluejay's double-blur device
Shows best when there are no green leaves to show.
And Sirius is a winterbluegreen star.

I think this poet left out a blue.  What about this white stuff is very old type of blue?  I think it is referred to as winter blues.  It snowed again today, but I went for a walk, which was great!  It is still out there - that blue white stuff.

After a Tempest

 by William Cullen Bryant

The day had been a day of wind and storm;--
The wind was laid, the storm was overpast,--
And stooping from the zenith, bright and warm
Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last.
I stood upon the upland slope and cast
My eye upon a broad and beauteous scene,
Where the vast plain lay girt by mountains vast,
And hills o'er hills lifted their heads of green,
With pleasant vales scooped out and villages between.

The rain-drops glistened on the trees around,
Whose shadows on the tall grass were not stirred,
Save when a shower of diamonds, to the ground,
Was shaken by the flight of startled bird;
For birds were warbling round, and bees were heard
About the flowers; the cheerful rivulet sung
And gossiped, as he hastened ocean-ward;
To the gray oak the squirrel, chiding clung,
And chirping from the ground the grasshopper upsprung.

And from beneath the leaves that kept them dry
Flew many a glittering insect here and there,
And darted up and down the butterfly,
That seemed a living blossom of the air.
The flocks came scattering from the thicket, where
The violent rain had pent them; in the way
Strolled groups of damsels frolicksome and fair;
The farmer swung the scythe or turned the hay,
And 'twixt the heavy swaths his children were at play.

It was a scene of peace--and, like a spell,
Did that serene and golden sunlight fall
Upon the motionless wood that clothed the fell,
And precipice upspringing like a wall,
And glassy river and white waterfall,
And happy living things that trod the bright
And beauteous scene; while far beyond them all,
On many a lovely valley, out of sight,
Was poured from the blue heavens the same soft golden light.

I looked, and thought the quiet of the scene
An emblem of the peace that yet shall be,
When, o'er earth's continents and isles between,
The noise of war shall cease from sea to sea,
And married nations dwell in harmony;
When millions, crouching in the dust to one,
No more shall beg their lives on bended knee,
Nor the black stake be dressed, nor in the sun
The o'erlabored captive toil, and wish his life were done.

Too long, at clash of arms amid her bowers
And pools of blood, the earth has stood aghast,
The fair earth, that should only blush with flowers
And ruddy fruits; but not for aye can last
The storm, and sweet the sunshine when 'tis past.
Lo, the clouds roll away--they break--they fly,
And, like the glorious light of summer, cast
O'er the wide landscape from the embracing sky,
On all the peaceful world the smile of heaven shall lie.

William Cullen Bryant was a nature guy and I enjoyed reading this one.

I awoke to snow, snow, snow and drove my daughter to school ahead of the plow in snow, snow, snow.  We slipped and slid and the snow kept coming down.  Then it was spring's turn and there "Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last" and when it was time to get my daughter from school there was little trace of all that snow from the morning!  Amazing!

Robert Louis Stevenson

Winter-Time

From Child's Garden of Verses

Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.

Before the stars have left the skies,
At morning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,
By the cold candle, bathe and dress.

Close by the jolly fire I sit
To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore
The colder countries round the door.

When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
Me in my comforter and cap;
The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.

Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding cake.

The sun and snow did a bit of battle today as they struggled for dominance.  The sun was shining brightly and I could see some blue sky, but at the same moment a few flakes of snow fell.  It was beautiful. 

Trees

Trees

by Joyce Kilmer 1886–1918

I THINK that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

This is one of my all time favorite poems!  This winter "Upon whose bosom snow has lain" could continue with and lain and lain and lain and lain…Even though it snowed again this morning, it was just a light dusting and mud has come so it is not so cold.

The Flesh and the Spirit

The Flesh and the Spirit

Anne Bradstreet

In secret place where once I stood
Close by the Banks of Lacrim flood,
I heard two sisters reason on
Things that are past and things to come.
One Flesh was call'd, who had her eye
On worldly wealth and vanity;
The other Spirit, who did rear
Her thoughts unto a higher sphere.
"Sister," quoth Flesh, "what liv'st thou on
Nothing but Meditation?
Doth Contemplation feed thee so
Regardlessly to let earth go?
Can Speculation satisfy
Notion without Reality?
Dost dream of things beyond the Moon
And dost thou hope to dwell there soon?
Hast treasures there laid up in store
That all in th' world thou count'st but poor?
Art fancy-sick or turn'd a Sot
To catch at shadows which are not?
Come, come. I'll show unto thy sense,
Industry hath its recompence.
What canst desire, but thou maist see
True substance in variety?
Dost honour like? Acquire the same,
As some to their immortal fame;
And trophies to thy name erect
Which wearing time shall ne'er deject.
For riches dost thou long full sore?
Behold enough of precious store.
Earth hath more silver, pearls, and gold
Than eyes can see or hands can hold.
Affects thou pleasure? Take thy fill.
Earth hath enough of what you will.
Then let not go what thou maist find
For things unknown only in mind."

Spirit. 
"Be still, thou unregenerate part,
Disturb no more my settled heart,
For I have vow'd (and so will do)
Thee as a foe still to pursue,
And combat with thee will and must
Until I see thee laid in th' dust.
Sister we are, yea twins we be,
Yet deadly feud 'twixt thee and me,
For from one father are we not.
Thou by old Adam wast begot,
But my arise is from above,
Whence my dear father I do love.
Thou speak'st me fair but hat'st me sore.
Thy flatt'ring shews I'll trust no more.
How oft thy slave hast thou me made
When I believ'd what thou hast said
And never had more cause of woe
Than when I did what thou bad'st do.
I'll stop mine ears at these thy charms
And count them for my deadly harms.
Thy sinful pleasures I do hate,
Thy riches are to me no bait.
Thine honours do, nor will I love,
For my ambition lies above.
My greatest honour it shall be
When I am victor over thee,
And Triumph shall, with laurel head,
When thou my Captive shalt be led.
How I do live, thou need'st not scoff,
For I have meat thou know'st not of.
The hidden MAnnea I do eat;
The word of life, it is my meat.
My thoughts do yield me more content
Than can thy hours in pleasure spent.
Nor are they shadows which I catch,
Nor fancies vain at which I snatch
But reach at things that are so high,
Beyond thy dull Capacity.
Eternal substance I do see
With which inriched I would be.
Mine eye doth pierce the heav'ns and see
What is Invisible to thee.
My garments are not silk nor gold,
Nor such like trash which Earth doth hold,
But Royal Robes I shall have on,
More glorious than the glist'ring Sun.
My Crown not Diamonds, Pearls, and gold,
But such as Angels' heads infold.
The City where I hope to dwell,
There's none on Earth can parallel.
The stately Walls both high and trong
Are made of precious Jasper stone,
The Gates of Pearl, both rich and clear,
And Angels are for Porters there.
The Streets thereof transparent gold
Such as no Eye did e're behold.
A Crystal River there doth run
Which doth proceed from the Lamb's Throne.
Of Life, there are the waters sure
Which shall remain forever pure.
Nor Sun nor Moon they have no need
For glory doth from God proceed.
No Candle there, nor yet Torch light,
For there shall be no darksome night.
From sickness and infirmity
Forevermore they shall be free.
Nor withering age shall e're come there,
But beauty shall be bright and clear.
This City pure is not for thee,
For things unclean there shall not be.
If I of Heav'n may have my fill,
Take thou the world, and all that will."

The March wind roars

The March wind roars
Like a lion in the sky,
And makes us shiver
As he passes by.

When winds are soft,
And the days are warm and clear,
Just like a gentle lamb,
Then spring is here.

-  Author Unknown

March has done some roaring here.  It was snowing again about an hour ago (11:30 pm).  I am getting used to driving my rear wheel drive car in that stuff.  I think it is a mechanical crab sometimes because it likes to go sideways.  I am looking forward to "warm and clear" days!

Our Hold On The Planet

Our Hold On The Planet
 by Robert Frost

We asked for rain. It didn’t flash and roar.
It didn’t lose its temper at our demand
And blow a gale. It didn’t misunderstand
And give us more than our spokesman bargained for;
And just because we owned to a wish for rain,
Send us a flood and bid us be damned and drown.
It gently threw us a glittering shower down.
And when we had taken that into the roots of grain,
It threw us another and then another still,
Till the spongy soil again was natal wet.
We may doubt the just proportion of good to ill.
There is much in nature against us. But we forget;
Take nature altogether since time began,
Including human nature, in peace and war,
And it must be a little more in favor of man,
Say a fraction of one percent at the very least,
Or our number living wouldn’t be steadily more,
Our hold on the planet wouldn’t have so increased.


It snowed here this morning and my car went sideways up the driveway when I took my daughter to school.  Then it turned to rain, which is good because that softens up the ice and snow and I am less likely to fall as I did yesterday.  That was the third time this winter.  Nature seems to have been against me there.

If Nature smiles -- the Mother must

If Nature smiles -- the Mother must

by Emily Dickinson

If Nature smiles -- the Mother must
I'm sure, at many a whim
Of Her eccentric Family --
Is She so much to blame?

It snowed a bit today, but then rained!  I smiled at the rain!!!  Waiting for the power cord, battery very low.

"Nature" is what we see

"Nature" is what we see --

by Emily Dickinson

"Nature" is what we see --
The Hill -- the Afternoon --
Squirrel -- Eclipse -- the Bumble bee --
Nay -- Nature is Heaven --
Nature is what we hear --
The Bobolink -- the Sea --
Thunder -- the Cricket --
Nay -- Nature is Harmony --
Nature is what we know --
Yet have no art to say --
So impotent Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity.

Without nature I would go crazy!  I am very happy to live in a small town close to nature.  Though deer and skunks wandering around town gets very old.

JOAN THE MAID

JOAN THE MAID (a villanelle)

By Michael Fantina

A well-armed sylph she led a vast crusade
To drive the hated foe into the sea.
The world recalls the tale of Joan The Maid.
At Orleans she broke the tight blockade,
The fleeing English shouted, "Sorcery!"
A well-armed sylph she led a vast crusade.
She broke the English lines. Her men obeyed,
Went up the scaling ladders, breathlessly.
The world recalls the tale of Joan The Maid.
She crowned a crownless king, who then betrayed
This pious girl from distant Domremy.
A well-armed sylph she led a vast crusade.
They led her to that sullen promenade,
Where stake and faggots wait portentously.
The world recalls the tale of Joan The Maid.
Her martyr's death the Living God repaid.
A girl, she speaks to us from History,
A well-armed sylph she led a vast crusade,
The world recalls the tale of Joan The Maid.

sylph: a slender graceful woman or girl (I had to look that one up)

For Love of Saint Joan or Ode To The Soldier Joan

For Love of Saint Joan or Ode To The Soldier Joan
by Virginia Frohlick
The cock did crow on that blessed and holy night.
His call rang forth news of great joy in the land filled with blight.
For in that dark and empty sky there but shone one star bright!
The Maid, the savior of France, was born to stun the sight!

As a child of God, she grew straight and true in her faith.
And in that simple little village she learned to pray.
Little did she know that God would have a hand in her fate.
That she would lead an army, His will to obey.

In her father's garden, she saw her holy vision's display.
She listened to their sacred counsel in wide-eyed wonder.
It would come to pass that she would heed their voice until her final day.
And her name would ride across France in a roar of thunder.

To Vaucouleurs, that little town, she one day did ride.
Where Squire Robert and his knights, Bertrand and Jean, did 'bide.
To ask them humbly to help to turn the raging English tide.
To help her to that far off place, Chinon, where the Dauphin did hide.

The Squire girded on, around her waist a sword of gold.
"Let come what may, your story must be told."
The small band sallied forth with spirit bold.
Their faith in her did soar despite the windy cold.

Through dangers untold they rode till they came to Chinon.
Straight way she went to the Dauphin and spoke of what should be.
"God bless thee, gentle Dauphin. Thou shalt have liberty.
I shall lead thy army and break thy heavy bond."

While in silent prayer her soul would soar before the throne of God.
On a milk-white charger she sallied forth with banner in hand.
With the goodly purpose of delivering her war torn land.
"Forward to victory!" she said to her men. "For so will's Our Lord and God!"

The English, around Orleans, were eager the French to slay.
Her army was prepared to give the English their just pay.
The valiant French fought, died, and won on the eighth of May.
And a grateful people would remember with pride that blessed day.

Comrades in arms she had three; Dunois, Alençon and La Hire.
To Orleans, Jargeau, Meung, Beaugency they rode without fear.
They followed wherever she led. Together they avenged the French defeat at Poitiers.
In the English camp they trembled for they knew their end was near.

"Do not tarry here any longer but come to the worthy town.
Listen not, my Dauphin, to those who would lead you astray.
But come straight way to the holy city of Reims and take thy crown.
You have nothing to fear; I have already cleared the way."

Grandly dressed people in fabric rich, blue, red and yellow.
To Reims Cathedral came for Charles' coronation.
As the organ played its notes so pure and mellow.
They watched the Dauphin --- NOW THE KING, in envious admiration!

Emotion over came her and to her knees she fell.
"My good King, you are crowned; my work here is done."
"Arise my child, good news, your parents to you have come.
Now go to them, my child, with all your love to tell."

She darted across the darkened room; into their open arms she flew.
Gently she pressed her kisses upon their elderly brow, so lavishly.
And with tears and warm embraces they hug, so affectionately.
There in that dark little room, the brightness of their love showed through.

But their content would not last because of Duke de la Tremoille.
To deceive the naive Charles so that he could France betray.
Into a false and lying truce, with England and Burgundy.
And in doing so leave to the enemy, Joan as prey.

"I must go to Compiegne, the enemy there to fight!"
Heading her small band, she led straight into the enemies' might.
While in the jaws of battle, she was untimely taken.
Though in Burgundian hands her great spirit was not shaken.

Sold to the mighty English King for ten thousand gold pounds.
Taken like a savage animal in an iron cage through French towns.
Until she reached a dark, damp hole --- the Rouen prison!
There she suffered five torturous months, never to know the sun!

To win the Archbishopric of Rouen, his fondest wish,
So to gain, Bishop Cauchon would obey the scheming English.
And so because of this, he would betray a girl to her doom.
And have the pitiless flames of the stake be her tomb.

It was May and the birds took wing and soared into the sky.
"Joan, you have led yourself to your own excommunication!"
For her King who had left her thus, there was no condemnation.
Nor in that bleak empty moment was there any question --- Why?

Chained tight to that rough stake she shed many mournful tears.
For she knew that her cruel and woeful death was near.
She looked for a glimpse of hope, but found only English jeers.
The time had come for her final victory --- over fear!

Her eyes upturned, she saw Him Who had died for us.
And in a loud clear voice, she cried out, "JESUS, JESUS!"
That soul made free to soar, rose up in the form of a dove.
To Him Who had sent her, to tell the world of His love.

When the world is dark and empty will they remember
Saint Joan of Arc, that gentle little soldier, so brave and free?
When men's hearts are devoid of hope, will they remember
The Maid, the savior of France, who fought for liberty?

I missed yesterday.  The cord to my laptop stopped supplying power and the battery went dead.  My youngest daughter's presentation of Joan of Arc was on it and her presentation was today!  We borrowed a cord from her teacher and got the presentation printed.  So the theme for today, which should have been yesterday is Joan of Arc.

Patience Taught By Nature

Patience Taught By Nature

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

'O DREARY life,' we cry, ' O dreary life! '
And still the generations of the birds
Sing through our sighing, and the flocks and herds
Serenely live while we are keeping strife
With Heaven's true purpose in us, as a knife
Against which we may struggle ! Ocean girds
Unslackened the dry land, savannah-swards
Unweary sweep, hills watch unworn, and rife
Meek leaves drop yearly from the forest-trees
To show, above, the unwasted stars that pass
In their old glory: O thou God of old,
Grant me some smaller grace than comes to these!--
But so much patience as a blade of grass
Grows by, contented through the heat and cold.

I have heard much moaning about cold, snow, and ice and I am sometimes guilty as well.  But, no matter how much we moan and groan, "the generations of the birds" still come and go.  Trees grow new leaves and drop them.  New growth, old growth, no growth the seasons turn and turn again, yet often we keep up the old cry of "O dreary life!"  Nature is a patience maker.

There is Another Sky by Emily Dickinson

There is Another Sky by Emily Dickinson

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!

There is Another Sky by Emily Dickinson

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!

Another sky sans clouds tonight and the temperature is dropping.  Outside the gardens are frozen and inside the baby tomato plants are snug in their little greenhouse.

Winter in Durnover Field by Thomas Hardy

Winter in Durnover Field by Thomas Hardy

Scene.--A wide stretch of fallow ground recently sown with wheat, and
frozen to iron hardness. Three large birds walking about thereon,
and wistfully eyeing the surface. Wind keen from north-east: sky a
dull grey.

(Triolet)

Rook.--Throughout the field I find no grain;
The cruel frost encrusts the cornland!
Starling.--Aye: patient pecking now is vain
Throughout the field, I find . . .
Rook.--No grain!
Pigeon.--Nor will be, comrade, till it rain,
Or genial thawings loose the lorn land
Throughout the field.
Rook.--I find no grain:
The cruel frost encrusts the cornland!

I am sure the birds around here are saying "no grain" because it snowed most the day.  I went for a walk today with my youngest son (21).  The snow was lightly falling when we first started the two mile loop, but soon the wind was blowing from the north and the snow came thicker and thicker.  The only birds we noticed were a pair of great horned owls we heard while passing a wooded area at 2:14 in the afternoon. 

Day Seven

Birds at Winter Nightfall (Triolet) by Thomas Hardy

Around the house the flakes fly faster,
And all the berries now are gone
From holly and cotoneaster
Around the house. The flakes fly!--faster
Shutting indoors that crumb-outcaster
We used to see upon the lawn
Around the house. The flakes fly faster,
And all the berries now are gone!

It snowed here again last night.  No, it dumped, but the sun came out and dazzled us this morning! 

Day Six

Lines For Winter

by Mark Strand

Tell yourself
as it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that you will go on
walking, hearing
the same tune no matter where
you find yourself --
inside the dome of dark
or under the cracking white
of the moon's gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonight as it gets cold
tell yourself
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going. And you will be able
for once to lie down under the small fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back and you find yourself
where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
in that final flowing of cold through your limbs
that you love what you are.

I love the phrases: "dome of dark" and "the small fire of winter stars."  Let's all keep going and telling ourselves that we love what we are all through our lives.

Day Five

                         When Winter Waned the World

Ever changing

always the same

snow to ice  

white, white, white.

Reflecting light

collecting none

on and on and on

until one day…

Winter waned the world

and softened up its grasp

first on the southern slopes

of mullein and toadflax.

Then green shone from the lawn

and rivulets sang, we’re free!

The quail came down all in a row

for gravel and some greens.

In a glade upon the hill

where the sun stroke rich and warm

a ladybug and leafhopper

awoke near an old cistern.

The hawk spread wide his wings

and sailed low across the field

mice shook off their frosty domes

to see what brown would yield.

The solitary heron

stood guard upon her stilts

and faded, slowly faded

as the snow began to melt.

The cliffs, all dressed in black

sang out a creaking song

an echo of an answer

and then the frogs were gone.

 For the brilliant winter sun

ducked behind the highest peak

and the deer began their journey

from the hill down to the creek.

Their sharp hooves speared the earth

and churned up narrow trails

with the coming of the darkness

their journey never fails.

High in a ponderosa

great horned owl winked an eye

then turned his head to listen

and answer another’s cry

Wings without a whisper

he flew to another tree

called out to his neighbor

and she answered, I agree.

Winter softly sighed

as the stars shone one by one

and I am truly Thankful

though winter is not done.

Rhae A. Eaton

Day Four

Starlings in Winter

Chunky and noisy,
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly

they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,

dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,

then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can’t imagine

how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,

this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.

Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;

I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard.  I want

to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.

~ Mary Oliver ~

Here is another of Mary Oliver's.  She is one of my favorites.  She writes of nature, as here, using the harsh season of winter.  She writes of emotion, of grief, that harsh combatant that must be faced and gone through, as those of us who do not travel south must face winter and get through it, though we may want our boots "to leave the ground" and head for sunny places.

I find that a great way to play along with winter is to just get out and walk.  There is a trail near here that I frequent with my family.  A week ago three of us went and winter was playing hide and seek with spring!  We heard great horned owls calling to each other (They begin nesting in February)!  We saw a pair of hawks soaring high in the blue, blue sky.  Red winged blackbirds gave their cheery call.  And treasure of all treasures, we observed a pileated woodpecker finding dinner!  That was a moment to be glad of winter, because if the trees weren't bare we wouldn't be able to see it as well.

Day Three

 Robert Frost

To The Thawing Wind

Come with rain. O loud Southwester!
Bring the singer, bring the nester;
Give the buried flower a dream;
make the settled snowbank steam;
Find the brown beneath the white;
But whate'er you do tonight,
bath my window, make it flow,
Melt it as the ice will go;
Melt the glass and leave the sticks
Like a hermit's crucifix;
Burst into my narrow stall;
Swing the picture on the wall;
Run the rattling pages o'er;
Scatter poems on the floor;
Turn the poet out of door.

Robert Frost
A Boy's Will
1913

Yes!  Yes!  Yes!  Come on Chinook!  Bring your warm winds and be done with the white stuff!  Let us all be turned out of door!"

Day Two

Wild Geese


by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

This is sooo awesome!  None of us is perfect.  And we have trials we have gone through or are going through now.  Nature is a wonderful healing place.

Here is Day Two!  A bit later in the day, but that's ok.  We had snow here again today so we aren't ready for the wild geese yet.

Day One

Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House

by Billy Collins

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,
sitting there in the oboe section barking,
his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful
silence to the famous barking dog solo,
that endless coda that first established
Beethoven as an innovative genius.

I can relate to the disruption of concentration that a barking dog (especially a high pitched little dog) can create.  I need silence to create.  I live in an apartment and can hear all sorts of noises, including the yipping dog in a yard a block away.  I hear the dog with my windows shut! 

The transition to an oboe section is a delight and I can just picture that little rascal with his staccato input.  Beethoven was an "innovative genius" and Billy Collins is a poetic genius!

Poem copied from http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/billy_collins/poems/11282