I’ve been walking around in the woods.
Just tramping across the land on trails
because I can
and my heart is calling me.
My wintertime projects wonder what’s up with me,
where I go each day
and why I leave them unattended,
especially since I prattled on all year
about how much I couldn’t wait to hug their necks
once the hours turned gentle.
The walls still waiting for their fresh paint,
especially the ones I promised to un-paint,
seem to greet me with their hands on their hips
each time I burst through the door
with pink cheeks and dirty boots,
the dogs lapping water noisily and trailing dried grass and mud.
I get it.
They’re in a funk over being neglected.
But I lop off some sweet orange branches blooming crazy early
and set them around in mason jars
and how perfect is that?
And the blackbird feathers I’m clutching in my hand
I tuck into a pretty ceramic pot
and isn’t that just glorious?
And I need just a little while longer to work it out with my guitar
what I heard the wind whispering
and how warm the sun felt on my face
and how the water was going in every sort of burble and shoosh
you can imagine out there
and how I’m punch drunk in love with the wildness of it all.
And it tickles like jazz to sit down and journal out my heart
on the one little bell I make at each day’s end,
just one sweet bite
with little room for words
and I did paint a bouquet of sticks one day
when an ice storm shut me in.
Yes, the walls still wait for their miracles
and the bathrooms and floors
and I’ll need to sleep with a heating pad again tonight
But can I tell you
that never has a winter ever
held more magic for me
and I’m holding it dear
like a snowflake in my hand.
“We have only this moment,
sparkling like a star in our hand
-and melting like a snowflake.”
-Marie B. Ray