Not much snow has fallen this Winter, although I recall one recent morning when flakes flew huge, and I imagined I was grabbing white white maple leaves with my mittened hands. Nonetheless, while cold temperatures chill mornings as I begin my runs and Winter’s posture stands tall, the same Summer peace I found sitting in the soft fabrics of my colorful sundresses poolside with my stacks of books as I watched my boys splash and dive, I discover in these runs wearing the black tights I long resisted and purple Adidas jacket. The deep ebb and flow of my breathing is matched by my legs’ long strides in the ritual of my daily right-brained run.
The green Irides of my eyes expand the black apertures of my pupils, communicating messages of exposed nests, from the cups of sparrows to the lodges of crows, with speed to the eye of my mind. I know when Spring redresses the whorls of tree branches in green and hides Nature nurturing Herself, She will guard these nests, hold them close to her chest like secrets, where I won’t be able to see. But even now, my own green eyes see the greens and the greens threaded in the Winter spun by the Wheel of Seasons.
Winter Green through BlackBerry Viewfinder
(But I’d like to think that I might still notice Winter Green even in the depths of snow.)
The moon thinned to a thread,
GL, 2/12/2010. Prevail.