February: Day Eighteen

Last night the wind roared

like the ocean

and we lost power and I feared

for the house to go cold

and pipes to freeze and

all manner of catastrophes to follow,

and prayed for the wind to die down, while

memories of a different storm welled up

and anxious thoughts swirled and

made my heart catch on every beat

as I repeated please stop, please stop,

but the house was solid against the wind 

and we huddled beneath extra blankets 

for warmth and then, suddenly,

the light came on and, finally, I slept.

It's morning now and the sun 

is shining and the wind still

roaring but not as threatening 

as in the dark of night,

and a squirrel just scampered

through the front yard

with a mouthful of oak leaves 

and the birds are at the feeder

as if nothing has happened at all

February: Day Fifteen

 

Seeing a tulip bloom

 

on my windowsill

in mid-February

is like

seeing the sun

come out

after a week

of rain

February: Day Twelve

I

 want to walk

in bare feet 

through coarse, thick sand

I want to breathe cool salt air

and feel warm sunshine caress

my face, my body shifting

deliciously between 

cool, warm,

warm, cool

I want to delight

in the antics 

of gulls who

mistakenly think

I might feed 

them, 

their sly approach

and side-eye glances

as if I can't see them

sneaking up on me

I want

the rhythm of waves

to lull me to sleep

in my beach chair

and all knowledge

of the world is

gone and gone and gone