When Winter’s Been Long
When Winter’s been long
Quiet White Still, Dry, Cold,
You stay close to home and tend to the fire, your life circumscribed by however much love
you’d gathered the Autumn before.
If however you’re a lonely one
you like your space
you like things just so
Well
Winter can be hard, bleak…
sure, noble in its sadness but ah something within aches, constantly itches…cries for…the first buds and flowers and new life of Spring peak up from out of the now-fleshy muddy red Earth!
the first shoot
You stay close to home and tend to the fire, your life circumscribed by however much love
you’d gathered the Autumn before.
If however you’re a lonely one
you like your space
you like things just so
Well
Winter can be hard, bleak…
sure, noble in its sadness but ah something within aches, constantly itches…cries for…the first buds and flowers and new life of Spring peak up from out of the now-fleshy muddy red Earth!
the first shoot
like love comes up raw, perfect, yet unrealized
and you sing aloud like Huck Finn and shout and run and dance, call dusty numbered friends on your phone,
and if you’re smart
you gather new firewood
stacking it neatly, ending each stack with a counter-stacked stack
giving the wood plenty of time to dry over the sudden wet Spring and the never-long-enough long, hot summer…and maybe this new love will grow
or maybe it’ll snow, again, and the soft beginnings of the flower will bend to the earth, ruined and flaccid, transparent
either way the seasons keep going, rolling over end upon end
and life
which is so sad and full-throated and so good and so, occasionally beautiful—
and you sing aloud like Huck Finn and shout and run and dance, call dusty numbered friends on your phone,
and if you’re smart
you gather new firewood
stacking it neatly, ending each stack with a counter-stacked stack
giving the wood plenty of time to dry over the sudden wet Spring and the never-long-enough long, hot summer…and maybe this new love will grow
or maybe it’ll snow, again, and the soft beginnings of the flower will bend to the earth, ruined and flaccid, transparent
either way the seasons keep going, rolling over end upon end
and life
which is so sad and full-throated and so good and so, occasionally beautiful—
her arms crossed on the table, leaning slightly more upon one shoulder like
a painting you might see from 200 years ago in Paris
(human beauty is timeless)is she blushing? Is she bored? Too soon to tell, it’s
the beginning of Spring
when from the long Winter
comes a first sign of life
on April 6th
and what is life without a little love to fill it
and what is love but the present moment
and that, at least, she and I shared tonight.
Whatever comes next—a life of love and children or a season’s fling or just a limping month—or a few awkward texts, then nothing more—
we had an early evening filled with sun and lights and night and sorta handmade dress “with pockets!” and brussel chips and Denver beer and the same old good old Sherpa’s super-spicy (not spicy enough) curry and garlic naan
a painting you might see from 200 years ago in Paris
(human beauty is timeless)is she blushing? Is she bored? Too soon to tell, it’s
the beginning of Spring
when from the long Winter
comes a first sign of life
on April 6th
and what is life without a little love to fill it
and what is love but the present moment
and that, at least, she and I shared tonight.
Whatever comes next—a life of love and children or a season’s fling or just a limping month—or a few awkward texts, then nothing more—
we had an early evening filled with sun and lights and night and sorta handmade dress “with pockets!” and brussel chips and Denver beer and the same old good old Sherpa’s super-spicy (not spicy enough) curry and garlic naan
I’m in old battered buck cowboy boots from Ft. C and bell bottoms and two cowboy shirts and vest, hair getting long wanna cut it
She’s in the yellow butter pocketed dress, strong mind and big eyes and funny stories and wide spread life.Ah, Spring:
you leave me giddily grateful
when
you shake winter from my shoulders.
She’s in the yellow butter pocketed dress, strong mind and big eyes and funny stories and wide spread life.Ah, Spring:
you leave me giddily grateful
when
you shake winter from my shoulders.
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