Thirsty for Color

Today, when Kendell and I were out together running a few errands, I noticed: it is looking less like winter and more like early, early spring. Then, later, after I had sequestered myself away to get folded the enormous mound of laundry I had been ignoring, we went out again. This time, it was dark—dark and cold. It had drizzled and then, closer to the mountains, snowed a bit.

Still late winter, I suppose. A much-too-dry winter. We haven't had enough snow here; the foothills are already brown and it fills me with a sense of foreboding I cannot shake.

I found myself thinking of this poem, from Jane Kenyon:

"February: Thinking of Flowers"

Now wind torments the field,
turning the white surface back
on itself, back and back on itself,
like an animal licking a wound.

Nothing but white--the air, the light;
only one brown milkweed pod
bobbing in the gully, smallest
brown boat on the immense tide.

A single green sprouting thing
would restore me. . . .

Then think of the tall delphinium,
swaying, or the bee when it comes
to the tongue of the burgundy lily.

And even though I have a few little green sprouting things in my garden—those hopeful snow crocuses!—I am right there with her. If it cannot snow, I wish it would start to sprout. I wish color would return to the world.

Comments

[wendy]

I was hoping you would write today. Very nice.

And yes, we didn't get nearly enough snow. I hope that doesn't turn out to be a bad thing by summer.

[Kim]

Amy, I think we got your snow. Our average is 18 inches a year, although in some years there is very little. We got 47 inches two weeks ago, and you have to add that to what we'd already gotten. That much snow at one time paralyzed us here in the DC area.

I love the poem; I think it's one of the most beautiful poems I've ever "heard." Thanks for posting it. I think it captured what you wanted to say, and I hope the foreboding leaves you soon.

[Aud]

Hi Amy -- just letting you know that I nominated you for a blog award on my blog.