Today's poem reminds me of the good old days, way back when I was putting together a free, weekly e-mailed newsletter (anybody remember that version of "Squiggles"? Now it's posted online, and there's a link to it nearby ... a bit to the left).
One of our annual rituals was a countdown toward spring.
It was not unusual for it to begin with the first frost in the autumn, struggle through the gray days of winter, then go marching toward brighter, sunnier, warmer ... growing ... days of spring.
This poem also reminds me of a time when Phyllis and I shared a sleeping room high under the roof of the house, where the sound ... the music ... of rain was so soothing, so reassuring.
Though I can't hear the rain thumping on the roof now, the sound of it slanting against the bedroom window is still a pleasant interlude, a reminder ...
thumps on my roof
as though testing it
and in the sunny
back yard of my mind
I see red roses
(originally published in Capper's)
Today's word: blossoming