Despite the post date, the time of publishing is Sunday 21 June 2009, New Zealand.
This time of year, some creatures hibernate. Many travel to the equator. Others consume what they’d hoarded in time of abundance. The last reserves begin to fade, like dying embers in a cooling fireplace.
My thoughts move to a phase of reflection. Hibernation becomes more understandable. Resourcefulness is a priority.
My skin puckers in a light wind. I begin to look out warm thoughts with the thick socks and woolly singlets.
Memories of spring mature with age. I look for jonquils in the scrub.
A few nod for me to accept their friendly arrival and shake out their piquant scent.
I write haiku, and chide myself for still thinking of winter.
The chill that's winter
blows a hole in the wood-pile
I stacked in summer.
Ah! Summer! Do you think the birds will come when it’s here?
They’re silent now. Will the sweet blackbird sing for us again?
Will grey warblers warble at noon? Will fantails twitter at sunset?
Radiating possibility. That’s it.
Perish a notion of winter.
Cherish warm thought till spring.
Of all the pleasure gardens bring,
The handsome pied Red Admiral
Must touch the zenith of the spring
With form and grace ephemeral;
To see these patterned wings full spread
In all but a fleeting glance,
Fine lace veil in feathered thread,
Enraptured eyes in trance
Will follow with a languid gaze
The soft hypnotic flutter,
Through the soporific haze,
Near honey scented bower,
Gliding with a liquid ease
Above the blood-red wallflower.
Countdown. Nearly two months to go.
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