Sunday, March 20, 2016

march malaise

the malaise of march hit 10:17 a.m. Sunday
when I realized—
slow to be sure—
that it was not 10:17 a.m. but 11:17 a.m.—
Spring ahead!
Bah, humbug.
How much I don’t like spring. These
l e n g t h e n i n g
days—twelve hours already!
Enough with the daylight!
It is just the beginning of
sunshine and frolic and
oh,
leave me alone.
Bah.
Humbug.

Oh! for the dark evenings of winter …

So it was 10:17 a.m.—ho ho! Silly girl!
11:17 a.m.,
see what happens
when you
tune out the world—
the world creeps in anyway, under the dark of night,
steals away time—
and there is so little dark! so little time!—
and then covers it all up
with a jolly song:
Spring ahead, me lassie, spring ahead!

So now daylight until
all hours of the night and
leprechauns dance
as if
’t’were
a good thing.

All week now with the sleeping late
the lethargy
the malaise
and I don’t s’pose it helped much—
that one day of seventy degrees—
hot and sunny,
and lo! But wasn’t that gorgeous?
Door  w i d e  o p e n
blue sky and porch settin’,
basking in the sun,
records on the turntable,
spinning and spinning
with the constant drip of snow
melting rivulets
off the eave.

But then the theft of time, and
yes, the hour will be returned, come fall, so
perhaps
I should be happy to have
less time in spring,
more time in fall.

I’ll think about it.

Done.

And then came the rain and the snow
and you see I knew all along—
even while basking in that sunny day past—well,
I knew it was false, but that was OK—
OK! I said, I love this!—
and the rainy day really wasn’t so bad
and the snowy day really wasn’t so bad—
it was beautiful, actually, and a lot of deer showed up,
just moving through, spring fever, I guess,
and one morning Josie chased a whole gang of deer—
Josie, who loves all seasons!—
he chased them deer right out of here
making such tracks in the snow and
ruff ruff!
and Josie and I walked the riverbank, the river now
so HIGH
and one day I thought TOO HIGH—
and that was the rainy day—
so halfway along I said, Come on, we’re turning back,
but the next day, the snow day,
we could see more clearly—
white earth / brown water—
clear distinction—
so we went the whole way,
the regular walk through the woods
along the riverbank and what a delight—
how can I complain?
To watch snow fall while
listening to snowmelt
gurgling through culverts;
to see the island
in the crook of the river
disappearing, reappearing;
and in the mornings and evenings
tawny deer ambling through,
pawing at the snow,
grazing,
looking up—
they give me the fisheye and
I give it
right
back.