in winter's fold

It is a taciturn night.  The piss yellow of the sun's last rays have sunk beneath the bitter sky.  Water boils over.  Pot roasts burn.  Milk turns sour and crocus,newly emerged from frozen ground lie trampled under bootprints.  It is March.

I hate Spring and its fickle facade.  Inevitably, the japanese magnolias will bloom too early and a curt frost will strike down the budding blossoms.    Rose bushes pushing forth their shoots will be stymied.  And my house, upon which this great extension has been bestowed, will sit and wait for the next thaw so that we might begin with the plumbing.

I am irritable.  Surely, it has to do with the constant shuffle of furniture, the fine mist of sanded spackle, the smell of wet paint.  Yet, no.  I recognize these things as signs of progress.  We are building, moving forward.  The electricians will be here tomorrow.  We plod along.

It is the weather.  This damn nuisance of snow and melt.  It is the outrageous heating bill.  It is the 20 extra pounds I have packed on.  It's the snow days, its the dog, the cats, the children, the dry cleaning bill, the weather report... anything, everything, but... me.

I have become a taciturn woman.  Sugar will not melt in my mouth.  I remember the care free summer days, sun kissed hair grazing my shoulders, the peel of tanned skin around my collar bone, the laze of days unscripted.  How long ago?

If Spring is youth,and Winter old age, then Summer is the blessed knowledge we all long for.  Bring forth the sun, the heat... let me feel the sting across my skin.  I wish to taste the salt upon my upper lip, embrace the summer constellations, dive into deep pools, testing my merit.

I feel nothing for the cold.  I want none of the snows or ice or blizzards. Let me be in a smooth sand, dotted with deserts roses.  I cannot take the pain of cold, the biting fire of freezing.  Let me wilt under the heat of the summer solstice, feel its rays beat upon my brow.


I hate the cold, the snow, the ice, the dark.  There is no romance for me in these things.  Light is joy.  Warmth is happiness.

The air is thin, pierced with the cold.  The dull steel of evening has long past.  The stars a little crisper this time of year... no matter.  I do not need the shine of the stars to know that you love me.  I'm done with winter.  Bring on the spring.