The Wind Blows Wherever it Pleases
February: Thinking of Flowers by Jane Kenyon
Now wind torments the field,
turning the white surface back
on itself, back and back on itself,
like an animal licking a wound.
Nothing but white–the air, the light;
only one brown milkweed pod
bobbing in the gully, smallest
brown boat on the immense tide.
A single green sprouting thing
would restore me. . . .
Then think of the tall Delphinium,
swaying, or the bee when it comes
to the tongue of the burgundy lily.
Today I wandered in the sun and in the wind. Today I wandered hiking trails and boggy areas. Today I wandered across a bridge, down a sledding hill and up to the top of a look out tower. It was a nice wander made nicer by the warmth of the sun on my skin, but more challenging because of the wind blowing into one ear, whistling around in my cranium before exiting the other ear and leaving an ache behind. My camera was looking for a friend to photograph, but my eyes wanted to take in the *big picture* today and while I saw the tall dry grass from last year bent in the sun, the tiny pointy leaves of the wild roses unfurling from the brambly branches, the red berries on branches with sunlight shining through, I didn’t make myself stop to get better acquainted, other than one time to have a heart to heart with the bolts fastening the steps of the look out tower.
It has been a strange winter. The snow has left as quickly as it came, the daffodil leaves are 2 inches high and pails are attached to the sugar maples. The warmth of the sun is expected at this point in the year. The tapped maple trees are not. I wonder what summer will bring us…