A long and snowy winter and then a shorter, milder one.
Enormous life change in between; I'm still recovering.
I try to walk every day now, since the temperatures are rising.
Here's the poem that came to me as I walked on Thursday, the last day of March.
I would describe the style as being like Frost; would you? Frost would, of course, spend a good deal more time on rhyme than I...
I need to feel this wind against my cheek;
I need to press this mud beneath my boot.
This air I breathe brings life to all my cells.
This walk I take is more than just a walk.
This movement of my legs awakens me,
reminds me of what I have left to do.
Great dreams are built on notions less than these.
Thus, I move to re-invent myself.
For there are sonnets still that I must write
and paintings great that I must still produce
and always music filling up the night
And always particles sent out to space.
The universe will bless my every step
and so I must continue to set forth
on paths that may be new or may be old
until, within my heart, the spark grows cold.