Tuesday, March 20, 2012

marzo mio

The gray, wet blanket of winter has finally settled, silent and airless, sealing the rim of this valley. Coldness felt in stiff fingers, through the bottom of socked feet, the frigid aura of the thin glass windows. A line of muddy, wet pants and sweaters hung above the wood stove, crispy and in the form of legs as I put them back on for another day subscribed to their service. February come and gone, reveling in its expected horror- snow moon, hunger moon, short, squat days with strong, lengthy night. The sly onset of March, holding hope for longer light, heat, the movement of worm and microbe, the stirring of life with in seed coat. The first sight of shooting star and fawn lily. The earth brims with water, red clay mud flowing over boot top and into sock, filling ditch and backing up culvert, a fist with middle finger extended crossing road to turn back school bus and mail man. Gophers make a run for higher ground, the souls of ducks come to stay. The soil too wet to work, plans incubate in the warm glow of the future, in dreams of sun browned skin and ripe tomato, bike rides and river swims. Interest fed through book and thought, the entire star trek movie sequence on VHS, days spent in sweat pants with unbrushed teeth...


C-Bear said...


Your writing moves me in the same way as Diane Ackerman's book, A Natural History of the Senses. It inspires me. When I find an experience I can relate to I'm overcome with relief that my feelings have been expressed with precision and eloquence.

Thank you,
Chelsea aka JewBear

Nordq said...

Mel I`m still on the road, but your connection to the seasons is inspiring. keep sharing, hermana. i´ll look forward to an update of long days, sunshine and new life. vaya pues,