Hope Renewed

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 ...

The poem:

HOPE RENEWED

Spring rain

thumps on my roof

as though testing it

for ripeness,

and in the sunny

back yard of my mind

I see red roses

blossoming again.

 © 1994

(originally published in Capper's)

Today's word: blossoming