On Thursday night I was feeling a bit poetical. It is spring, after all, and my guess is almost everyone has dabbled in poetry in the Spring: we just can’t help ourselves. That I actually felt like writing a poem, however, was significant. It has been a long time since I’ve really felt “the muse.” What little I have written in the past couple of years (I could probably count the number of poems on one hand) has been far from encouraging or uplifting. On the contrary, the scattered handful of poems of the past few years have been the result of my own need to open the floodgates of my anger, hurt, and sadness and let all the junk come rushing out. Chances are good I won’t be sharing any of those raw and deeply personal words.
While I love winter, cold and snow included, the length and extremes of this winter took their toll on me, as I am sure they did on many others. Even I was praying for spring to come, for a chance to get outside again and breathe deep. I felt as if my soul had filled up with gunk that needed to be washed away. There have been days in the past few weeks when I felt so discouraged, as if my hope had been stripped away. In truth, it wasn’t all the weather, and I am working on the aspects of that gunk that I can’t blame on lack of fresh air and sunlight. I’ve been struggling for a long time, but I am trying to reset my thoughts towards better, more positive mindsets. It is very hard work. It is ever-so-slowly starting to get a little easier, but it will continue to be hard work for some time.
On Thursday I finally felt hope again that we were truly entering a new season. Spring was finally here. I took Strider for a short walk, as the forecast was for rain at any minute. I wore my spring jacket, just in case the rain started, but I really didn’t need it. The wind against my face as we walked out was strong and warm. I felt the cobwebs inside me stirring, but reluctant to give up their hold. Coming back, the wind was at our backs, and strong enough to blow my hair into dancing tendrils reaching beyond my face. There was just enough sunlight seeping through the clouds to bring out the color of my misbehaving locks. And I laughed at the thought.
I came back inside and felt life stirring within once again. I felt like writing, either starting a new story or preparing notes for one, but needed to tidy up my writing-space first. Tidying-up turned into full-fledged cleaning, and 2.5 hours later, it was almost bedtime and I didn’t have enough time to really work on anything. So, I decided to try a few verses. I had to think about it. A phrase had popped into my head earlier, and I knocked it around in there for a several minutes before it started to germinate. After that it didn’t take long for it to become “Entering.”
As poems go, perhaps there isn’t much to it. It is short and unpolished. I published it here with only two minor tweaks from the original draft. But, it is a first glimmer of a hope that I intend to grasp and nourish if I can. It is the hope that I am not just passing from nature’s winter to spring, but that I am personally leaving behind one season and entering another.