On pieces of paper, here and there

I have decided to blame the time change. Turning the clock forward has meant the loss of my morning light. That glimmer of dawn as I return on my walk with the dog — I long for it all the dark mornings of winter. With the time change I am again, plunged into darkness and something in me stops. Like the abused mechanism in an old wind-up toy, I am seized.  On the morning after the time change I wait two hours after waking for the sun to rise. The night holds me in soft restraints. I feel bound by too-heavy blankets, tangled in my night clothes, wrapped in cobwebs. Resistance does not speed the dawn, so I wait. The day is a burden.

I have been writing, here and there I find bits of paper with a line or two — an unresolved poem, an idea absorbed by inertia and abandoned. Today, I decided to collect the pieces. Here’s what I have to show for these past weeks.

the sun is shining
offering pre-spring promises
I am unconvinced

resting in sunlight
only my hand grows warmer
cold March afternoon

dingy-grey and tattered
torn lace clouds spread across the sky
drying in the shade

brown parchment flower
still clinging to the stem
March hydrangea

a cluster of leaves
revealed in the melting snow
spring remembers fall

waking in darkness
startled by the alarm clock
stars cling to the sky


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