When the frost comes
The first few weeks of November I had the privilege of partaking in a floral creative online writing class offered by Debra Prinzing of Slow Flowers.
What a delight. My goal was to improve my overall writing style without losing my fun, life-loving voice.
I feel I achieved my goal. Plus I realized I love to take people on a journey with my writing.
Here is a poem I wrote about my mental process when the first hard frost of the season takes my blooms. This year, here in Alaska it happened in late September.
When the Frost Comes
When the frost comes tipping the morning blooms all icy white. I dash out at the first site of light. The “magic hour” so crisp, so clear dawns only once this time of year. I close my eyes tight feeling a catch in my breath. Don’t cry I hear, “I’ll be back again next year.”
Knowing the frozen glory that awaits to be captured inspires me to pick up my step. Crunch, -crunch, -snap, -spap, -click,-click, of the shudder. Quick before the thaw, absorb it all, every last drop. Freeze this moment, document to remember. You know what’s coming, vegetation dripping, hanging like cooked spinach and shriveled. So utterly despairing, so saddening, so September.
After much anguish, maybe even a few tears, acceptance maybe? After all, like clockwork, the natural magical order of the seasons brings a time for the “tions” -rejuvenation and much reflection. Just think of all the visioning, all the pen to paper planning, all the dreaming of more. I look away, close my eyes firmly, feeling the catch in my breath. Don’t cry I hear, “I’ll be back again next year.”
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