It’s 7 AM, and my bare feet
are well smudged from a trek into the yard.

I could have worn garden boots to haul the trash and recycle to the curb,
but sweet chilly grass and
dirt are familiars to my skin – even at this time of year,

so sensibility was left sitting by the back door.

I know the planet is changing.
Even in my lifetime, her weather has expanded and contracted
with the unending labor pains and toll that humans are exacting.
I know it’s true, and so

the small victories of nature still trying to stay the course of thousands of years
brings me simple joy. Like this:
the last day of February.

Where true to form, after the same false spring we have
February, (you know the time – the past six days of intoxicating sunshine
when kids walking home from school
rolled up up their blue jeans and their mothers
peeled off sweaters to soak their thirsty skin with warmth),

yes true to form, the barometer has shifted.

(Of course it was false! What else
could it be twenty-one days before the Equinox?)

“Fools,” taunt the daffodils.

From my spot near the fireplace,
I squint through the grey morning light to see
the thermometer outside on the back deck. The mercury is dropping
while behind it, primroses potted
just yesterday
maintain a cheery disposition.

I know that the budding forsythia and quince need more cold.
They need this reminder to “slow down; not yet.”
While the stalwart crocus refuse to be phased –
having already made their lusty yellow and purple entrances in hidden
places around neighborhood. They laugh at us,
“You think…
just because…. we’ve shown up…
that it’s actually springtime?

Fools!” They chime in with the daffodils.

But I’ll not let this brief return to winter restrain the simple joy
of a prelude to the next season
and the dark cold mud pressed between my toes.

About Martha Phelps Studio ~ creative on purpose

...a meandering journal of a changing life and the unexpected graces it brings. Earlier posts may provide some history, but this series of writings aren't likely to follow a straight line as I explore topics such as raising kids, making choices, self discovery, the impact of change on a family and how to (hopefully) live with balance and purpose.
This entry was posted in Poetry (matters), Through My Lens, Written by Herself and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Prelude

  1. Joe Dubay says:

    Hi Martha,
    After Church today in the Cathedral courtyard, an about four year old curly haired girl in her Sunday
    best with red shoes sloshed through the soggy grass to great glee oblivious to the drizzle and cold, finally tempting her younger brother to join her. I
    I thought of your piece here and suddenly I was sloshing barefoot through endless fields of soggy grass, arms akimbo, shouting with joy.

    • mlp says:

      My dear Joe – my friend,
      Thank you for this! I can see the little girl and her brother having their way with the weather – as well as your heart. I can also see you being in joy!
      Your comments mean so much to me. I apologize for not always responding more quickly. I get a lot of crazy spam on my web site, and sometimes I’ll let a couple weeks pass by before coming through the backdoor of the site to clean house. That’s when I find your wise notes: treasures to this writer who is very grateful to recieve your thoughts and feedback.
      Sending love, M

Please share!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.