This month has asked so much from us. My peach tree in full bloom one day and the very next, branches weighed down under heavy snow. Will the buds survive? It’s too soon to tell. The daffodils were laid to rest like patients, the roads froze and cracked, exposing hazards. A warm breeze on an 80 degree day carried in a snowstorm the next, a Trojan horse was welcomed and we bought it. This is the weather doing its own “trying” because this is what change really looks like. Like the buzzing around of confused carpenter bees, like tall virgin grass under ice, our atmosphere is forging in a new direction, and it’s been messy. Next comes the traditional practice of complaining about the weather, a requirement it seems, of being human. But your whining is justified, trust me! Too much of our personality is derived from what’s going on outdoors. Am I a free spirited explorer today? Or a medieval hobbit? Have I proclaimed loyalty to my shorts and sandals again or must I cheat on them in boots. Don’t look, Birkenstocks, I do love you, and …. I thought I was ready but I’m not. Please wait for me. I always loved you over the boots. I am plagued with guilt over teasing the charcoal grill that it may cook for me once again, only to leave it in the cold, uncovered. I owe the house a sincere apology for having the heat and the air conditioner on in the same day. Be easy on me, hvac, I didn’t ask for this! As the wind blew the ornamental pear petals around they mixed with snowflakes and two unlikely sides met each other. Oh the lessons in March of surrender.
March proves to us there is no order, at times only chaos. In life too, we can be slightly prepared to feel, but never enough prepared. Sit in the sun when you can, play in the snow too. Raise your arms in surrender and worry less. Accepting things out of order is the only way sometimes.
Some order to feeling
As much as you can see
In black and white
And know
A door will slam, unexpected
And rearrange the order
An out of order
Misplaced rage appears
fear of loud noises.
Some days i am a net
Parked in a breeze
Where birds of sorrow fly low
And get caught
Too many at a time or none at all
Unorderly fashioned
We can’t instruct the birds or keep them
In a row
The feelings come
They stay and they go
Their feathers break our hearts
Before we are ready
The chaos of oranges
Tumbling onto the floor
Only because one is removed
Wipes out an arrangement
And leaves a mess
The sting on an ocean day
Comes at a rotten time
Who is in charge
And shouldn’t we have some order
Thank you for reading and as always reach out to me because I DO love to chat!
readnwrite11@gmail.com
The Mint Patch Monologue 