I love the overlap of the seasons: a red fall leaf hemmed with lacy snowflakes.
Usually by the time snow comes the leaves are gone and white becomes the dominant feature. But snow in fall feels poetic because the colors share the scene, both more gorgeous for being together.
That’s what poetry does, right? Brings images together to intensify them both.
Maybe that’s why these photos I took of the results of our unseasonal storm this week make me want to pull a book of poetry off my shelf and curl up with it by a window.
Like Linda Pastan’s poetry. For some reason, these photos remind me of the end of her poem “Prosody 101”:
There was a dark edge around each flower
as if it had been outlined in ink
instead of frost, and the tension I felt
between the expected and actual
was like that time I came to you, ready
to say goodbye for good, for you had been
a cold front yourself lately, and as I walked in
you laughed and lifted me up in your arms
as if I too were lacy with spring
instead of middle aged like the camellias,
and I thought: so this is Poetry!
All this makes me wish I were better at writing poetry! But I’m going to be brave and put one here that I wrote in grad school for a contest. It’s called “She”:
She has draped the mountains in lace again
on a fickle housewife’s whim:
Here today, gone before you blink.
Not long ago, She swapped blossom-floral curtains
for leaf-green, then crinkly textured red.
Outrageous streaks in the blue sky mark the passing fad
of Her love affair with abstract art and return
intermittently like country-style furnishings.
Brown and white are classic now
with a deft touch of yellow—
the persistent tulip peeking through the snow.
How’s the weather where you are? Are there certain seasons or weather patterns that make you feel like reading or writing certain things?