It’s noticeable. The early morning light is earlier. There is still light in the sky at 6 pm. The late February sunsets ignite windowpanes and color the world twilight rose. The light is an elixir. I feel it enter my bones, breath and bloodstream. I’ve come to love winter and the end of winter…the gradual warming, brightening, quickening. Already, the maples are budding and their sap is running. There’s a forecast for snow on Thursday and 50 degree weather on Friday. Ahhhhh. The darkest days are fading.
WHAT TO DO THE FIRST MORNING THE SUN COMES BACK
Find a clean cloth for the kitchen table, the red and blue one
you made that cold winter in Montana. Spread out
your paper and books. Tune the radio to the jazz station.
Look at the bright orange safflowers you found last August—
how well they’ve held their color next to the black-spotted cat.
Make some egg coffee, in honor of all the people
above the Arctic Circle. Give thanks to the Sufis,
who figured out how to brew coffee
from the dark, bitter beans. Remark
on the joyfulness of your dishes: black and yellow stars.
Reminisce with your lover about the history of this kitchen
where, between bites of cashew stir fry,
you first kissed each other on the mouth. Now that you’re hungry,
toast some leftover cornbread, spread it with real butter,
honey from bees that fed on basswood blossoms.
The window is frosted over, but the sun’s casting an eye
over all the books. Open your Spanish book.
The season for sleeping is over.
The pots and pans: quiet now, let them be.
It will be a short day.
Sit in the kitchen as long as you can, reading and writing.
At sundown, rub a smidgen of butter
on the western windowsill
to ask the sun:
Come back again tomorrow.
Cool poem. Thanks for sharing it!
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Lead, kindly Light,
amidst the circling gloom.
Lead Thou me on
The night is dark and I am
Far from home.
Lead Thou me on
Keep Thou my feet
I do not ask to see the
Distant scene,
One Step enough for me.
-John Henry
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Happy to have you return to blog..
A meditation:
Yet silence, itself, is unspeakable, uplifting abundance, beauty, wonder, laughter, light and joy.
-Laura Teresa Marquez
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Thank you for that. It’s been a dark winter.
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Wonderful magenta on the house.
Chris
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This is an elixer to me … image, text and poem. I had just such an experience for the first time this year. While in the back yard at sunset I turned toward the house and was thrilled to see the glowing sky reflected in my kitchen window.
Love this poem … will be looking for more by Marquez certainly!
So glad you’re posting …
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[…] winter*colors that remind me of spring*poetry*a Richard Diebenkorn […]
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