Monday Poem, A Year and a Day
Sun Dreaming – 04/11/05
The winter has been long and I turn my heart towards travel.
Soft banks of snow have been transformed by the late winter rains
and now bear none of their earlier powdered beauty.
The icy mud sucks at my feet as the brown grass shows
greasily through on cold, dead patches of earth.
It is grey and cold,
Too cold to hope yet for flowers.
Too cold to see the ice banks retreat into the ground.
The wet and sharp winds bite exposed ears
and makes red cheeks sting.
Drizzling rain freezes as it hits,
making a walk to the mailbox a treacherous affair.
It is cold.
My shoes are soaked.
Then I smile.
For a moment, I am not here,
and I fly away in my mind.
For me, Southern France is always sunny,
and I close my eyes,
and walk along the terraced hillsides,
amongst the ancient almond trees once more.