dayspring early bright
a palette of green
spills across the pond
Spirit of the Seasons
In the meadow
Dandelions
Become stars
In a spring-green sky
A spot of color
on a snowy day
The male cardinal grandstands
It looks, it smells, it feels like springtime. The air is warm and moist, not cold and dry, with a green and earthy scent instead of the odor of decaying vegetation usually present during the fall and winter months. The daffodils have sent up green shoots, responding to the sunshine and the unseasonably warm temperatures. The birds are twitterpated, but skeptical. I bet even Punxsutawny Phil was confused and confuzzled in his prognostications.
The Great Groundhog has predicted 6 more weeks of winter. What winter?
When she looked up, she closed her eyes against the brilliance of the sun, feeling the warmth spread across her face. The brightness was still there, penetrating the darkness behind her eyelids. Bright, bold yellows radiated outwards in star-like patterns. Miniature suns in blazing reds and hot oranges danced and sparkled, the skin protecting the eyes unable to keep out the dazzling sunlight. She thought, “How wonderful to spend time with the sun once again!” as she felt the light fade and the warmth withdraw. The winter clouds had returned.
I used a prompt from A Writer’s Book of Days for today’s small stone. While standing at the kitchen window, soaking up the sunlight, I wrote (in my head) something similar although more like a poem, prior to reading the prompt I’d be using for today. After reading the prompt, I ended up with a longer version of what’s above, and chopped it down to a few sentences to make it a small stone.
The sun makes brief appearances here in the Bogs during the winter months and I’ve learned to mimic the cats, and follow the light around the house when it does come to visit.
blown about by the North Wind
the tang of woodsmoke
drifts in and out
sparrows spiraling
weaving
black polka dots overhead
meandering across a drab gray sky
mobs of snowflakes arrive
silently rioting and gathering
in patches and drifts
the blue jay in the woods
screeches
in a counter-demonstration
A small stone for a snowy Day 28. Boreas, in Greek mythology, was the purple-winged god of the north wind and winter. I’m far from Greece, but can’t seem to find a North American equivalent.
Fresh snow accumulated overnight, redrawing the lines of the landscape. The birds gather around the feeder, some on the ground scratching for fallen seeds buried in the snow. A red-tailed hawk perches on a high branch in a tree at the edge of the meadow, watching. Waiting. A fine white powder, barely visible, is being squeezed and sifted from the clouds overhead, falling softly, silently, in a straight line from sky to ground. The air is still. The raspy screech of another hawk somewhere off in the distance is carried across the hills and the pond.
I wonder why all the birds don’t fly south to escape the cold and snow, leaving us birdless for a season.
fifteen minutes at zero degrees
even with layers
— fleece gloves, mittens on top —
the cold nips, snaps, bites
invades my fingertips
inducing clumsiness
benumbed, dipping them in warm water
color and feeling return
with excruciating pain
not one good photo to show for it
It’s bitterly cold here today after yesterday’s snowstorm. I went out at sunrise hoping to catch some of the pink and purple sunlight that ushered in the dawn. The cold went right to my fingers. It wasn’t long before my cold-numbed fingers were stumbling around on the camera buttons, a sure sign it’s time to give up and go inside. My fingers are fine, but the warm-up was painful.
perched on a stool in the kitchen
bare feet gripping the rungs
hands embracing the warmth of a cuppa
I watch the snowflakes bob and boogie
to the music on the radio
Sparkles of red, blue, and gold twinkle on the pond. The birds are sunning themselves in the bare trees, trying to catch a little warmth on this frigid morning. Bright, beautiful sunshine and blue skies have replaced the clouds. Feet of ice dip their toes into a stream of blue water. Not everything is frozen.
Bountiful Healing 