All night the wind filled with snow howls against our walls. What happens to the animals, or people still outside I do not know. Small ship on a vast ocean our house sails alone through the gale. Carries us fretting to the borders of morning, the furnace and the radio land ahoy. ~~~
One by one, winter lifts its long fingers from the deep freeze where they have grown, collecting crystals month by month with its diamond file sharpens them precisely then slips out to test an edge on the skin of our necks and back it goes sitting in the shimmering dark wearing the glimmer of a … Continue reading One by one,
Fling open the door: the wind blows cold but we hear chickadees and as the snow peels back smell mud a hint of greening and Spring's buds inching toward light. Impatient to be out of its woolens and flaking cells our skin clamours to be bared against soft sun, our hair daydreams of a ruffling … Continue reading Mad for a moment
Chill wind blows me right to your door. Open your arms, bundle me inside. ____________________
The air bites, sharp as Winter's kiss. But wait: Geese will arrive, necks stretched, wings spread, pulling a softer wind to wrap our fresh-bared skin. ____________________
All winter the lawn has loafed under its thick white quilt and wakes in April, tousle-headed, crusty-edged, and with the freshest shoots of weeds curled cheekily in its damp, bare places. Afternoon sun, a stiff rake, and the layabout sits, chastened, scrubbed and alert: waiting to don a new green suit.
Ellen Symons Writes 