The Green Edition

I was born on a winter night in the desert. The desert has many secrets but one of my favorites is that in those shallow northern months the desert is in full bloom. There is grass, lush from rare winter rains and even the cactus is bursting with blossoms. In celebration from a brief break from the eager sun the desert rewards itself with an early spring.

It seems I'm always waiting for spring these days. I live atop a snow clad mountain now with my husband and children who were all born in the spring and summer months. We look out our great glass windows all winter long waiting for the first sign of freedom and life. We search the canyon meadow for green.

After a childhood of desert winters and endless summers I struggle with the more balanced seasons my new home dictates. I love my beautiful canyon and its continuous parade of changing colors and temperatures. It's dizzying to see how fast the world can dress and undress itself. I haven't quite adapted to winter, though. "A season of clouds", I write in one of my poems. The magnitude of white is breathtaking. I know winter has its place. I'm just struggling to find my place in it. There's so much desert girl left in me.

Frankly, winter makes me sad. I miss warm sunshine. I miss grass, leaves on trees. I miss life. I miss my mother's life. I want that world back. The one I had with her in it. Winter reminds me of all that has been taken away from me.

By spring, I'm clawing at the windows, desperate for green. When it appears, I'm ecstatic. I appreciate more the beauty of renewal, life starting over and beginning again. As I watch the earth go from white to green my mind overflows with words and inspiration. I feel my creativity come alive. It's truly exhilarating to march in step with the planet, as you each bloom with fresh perspectives.

Everything that has been buried, blown away, stranded and forgotten rises higher and more cheerful than the year before. Spring and summer are always there, just waiting at the surface to be called to position. All the sun has to do is call their name and the wildflowers, grass and trees take their places.

In the lovely desert, my first home, I never had to wait for spring. Now that I do, I cherish it. Winter gives me the chance to hunger and it rewards me with a visual feast. Winter does not take spring away, it prepares a place for it. My heart has prepared a place for the color green all winter and now it overflows with poetry.

Here they are:

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The Sun is Rising

The sun is rising past the edge of things

to change the habit of the land

make it good again

make it green.

The sun has returned and is making amends

by making everything green again.

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Winter/Summer Clouds

The clouds of winter have finally fled

now the stratus vertebrates of winter are all that remain.

The wind still blows through the canyon walls

An echo in the frosted halls

but above me the coming of

summer is silent and slow and

steady and the tips of sky are flushed with blazing white.

Winter's vertebrates is an x-ray of summer months.

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My Mind

My mind is a green forest floor.

I know this for when I see the earth come alive

in rushes to trees fingertips

the green I see locks in my gaze

and somethings aligns behind my eyes

sets in my brain

sets the world

sets me right

and suddenly I come to life.

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Pulse

I see my pulse through my soft pants that line my knees

burning blood in soft pale blue lines rising like a river.

My heart runs through my body like a river,

over boulders and crippling waterfalls

to places I've never seen before,

places in my body I know are there

but cannot feel

would be dead without

pulsing

beating

beating

beating

in soft blue lines.

Aspen Trees

The aspen trees always has so much to tell me

that I can hardly understand them.

I only get certain phrases out of what they say

they chatter so fast and excitedly.

Something about a field of birds,

a girl and boy,

a sweet smelling river.

Hurry, hurry, they urge me.

But to where? To what?

To who?

Tree of Life

Perhaps green is not a color at all

but a place

where you feel the breath of living things

and it connects you to the living world

to those living beyond

all aligned in one great whole

in the figure of a wide, full tree.

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In Heaven

In heaven flowers rhyme with blue skies

and green are the kisses from our mothers

when they are given to us

and we are given to them

and they take us into their arms.

That is why on this earth

when you see the green meadow

or the forest glade

you feel the way you do.

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I Sit on a Hill

I sit on a hill of velvet grass

with a warm May sun cutting a mold of me from my back.

I share a private exchange with the dome shaped moon dangling haphardadly

in the newborn May sky.

There's a small crowd around me

chatty, pleasant parents who ignore me.

That doesn't matter too much because I'm having a private

conversation with the moon.

We two are sharing secrets of our lonely craters and

hidden fractures.

We each admire their depth against the deep blue

and take turns blowing cool breathes where the pain still smarts.

There is no need to feel alone

for I am made of dust too

and when I feel no one else understands my pain

I remember I have never been a moon

and the moon has never been a me

but at least we both know to blow cool air on the craters

where the stinging still shows its fleshy marks.

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Happy reading.

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