I’m taking part in a 20 Minute A Day writing challenge with Story Circle Network where we write for fifteen minutes, edit for five, then send what we’ve written to our accountability group.
This morning, I wrote a poem and thought I’d share it with you.
January 4, 2022
Low cloud, feather-like flakes falling, white lawn—
This is January.
Barren branches, blanketed evergreens,
the scrape of snow shovels, grinding blowers.
Neighbours meet in the cul-de-sac
to remove offending white stuff
from their driveways.
I wear socks and sweaters
piece jigsaw puzzles
and pull blankets over top of me.
I snuggle between flannel sheets and a down comforter
and try to read late
but my body is in slow mode.
I fall asleep before I get to the end of a chapter.
I saw a spider on the ceiling in the kitchen the other day
and wondered where he came from.
Did the frigid cold drive him indoors?
or wake him from his winter nap?
(Do spiders take a winter nap?).
He made me think about my garden
dirt under my fingernails
and sweat on the back of my neck
tucking tiny seeds of promise into the warming soil
and the gentle spray of water from my watering wand
inviting them to grow.
One day I will peel off my socks
and go barefoot again.
I will put away the flannel sheets for another season
listen to birdsong
and pay attention to buds on branches.
But not yet.
Not just yet.