Tomorrow is March and March means spring. As a Seattlite, I can’t tell you how excited I am for the prospect of having a committed, loving relationship with the sun instead of these fitful affairs I’ve been having with it all winter. Spring has just always seemed like a good time to repair everything, from winter-worn plants to emotional well-being. This was a melancholy little poem a wrote a few years ago, after a particularly hard winter. I still like it.
Spring trickles in through the clouds and windows
Like the drip of a leaky old facet
Intermittently my grey shadow shows
Against any backdrop it can be set.
Wind attempts to rob the warmth from the air
But when the sun rises, all pink and cool,
The day will be just, even if not quite fair.
Winter’s old master becomes spring’s droll fool.
One day summer will come like our savior
And bring constancy, warmer weather,
But spring, with mercurial behavior
Gives flight to joy, as a breeze, a feather.
Only the embittered winter can mope;
Spring is a season a season of hope.