It’s been a while since I blogged. For a while now I’ve told myself that the muse
deserted me never to return. Some call it “writer’s block.” Some call it fear.
Fear of failure. Fear of success. Maybe. I am determined to find it again. Get back in the saddle, so
to speak. And so I write...
I hate cold weather.
This island girl has never adapted well to the changes in
seasons. Not once in forty-plus years of living in America’s northeast have I
welcomed or even cautiously anticipated winter. Yes, I do welcome the relief of
cooler temperatures after the piercing heat of summer. To be sure I admire the vibrant
colors of fall. There is admittedly no more beautiful sight than the leaves of
a mighty maple slowly surrendering its lush greenness in favor of bright orange,
sienna and vermilion hues. But somewhere around mid-August I become keenly
aware of shorter days, cooler evenings, waning sunlight, falling leaves, wooly caterpillars,
chirping crickets, migrating geese, and a backyard swimming pool that urges me
to take one more dip if I dare. But it is mid-November. We’ve already experienced our first snowfall, the first frost and the first pea-soup fog of the season. Even the last geese have begun their flight to warmer climates. It all serves to remind me of a poem by the late English poet, Thomas Hood whose thoughts must have been as morose as mine:
No sun, no moon,
No morn, no noon,No dawn, no dusk, no proper time of day,
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member,
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,
November.
But there are moments of wonderment too. This morning I
awoke to unexpected sixty-degree temperatures, a warm breeze and amazing
sunshine. Tomorrow it will be cold again; today I will relish in this
unexpected blessing.
And soon it will be spring.
