Before the Warkworth Maple Syrup Festival and well after the GroundHog’s Day tom-foolery, in the nether world between times comes Intimations of Spring. Here in picture, prose and poetry is that time in the Northumberland Hills of Eastern Ontario.
Intimations of Spring
Lost in thought
the winds crack a tree
a branch shudders, swooning
cracks again- a deathly silence
Shutter fall, wooing one more time
And caw caw … wisping away.
Spring comes this year in strange investments and associated garments. Bone chill cold brings a night even more so such that I retreat to the basement, turn off the furnace and steadfastly fill the iron stove to the full of birch and maple cuttings of two summer ago. Only these glowing embers, life forces up the chimney and into the night can staunch the shiver fog’s sway throughout the house.
Shiver Cold Fog
The stove’s radiant life of warmth is layered between two blankets – dozing off I think “am I keeping the cold out or maybe just as well the benevolent heat “… but before an answer arises to mind there are dancing trees. Trees that no the winter having their own radiance –
My oh Ma
Lost in the midst of the mists
whisps singular and throbbing in aura
like the heart but in shimmering glow
like an act of goodness amongst uncare
like an awaiting wind to carry a seed thing.
The weather gods still shake
in the canopy above to the roots below
but tawny have the winter endured
but shaders have become transparent
but only Springs tap and jive will abate.
But my dreams have their own music and drive, as if the arbours had come alive and wanted to swing and dance every care away in the middle of what I know, I feel, I sense all around is …
Ma oh Ma
I walk within a spirit of you
my thoughts become evident in silver breath hints
merging tippy top with fog’s Spring lyings.
Mon un Ami
Still you chill stealthy
if not biting in deep past severs
slicing divine at mine and expectations.
Ma oh My
what has shaken me most
is the writhing withinas if I saw a ghost of you in me.