that's mrs. mediocrity to you

I thought these were red-winged blackbirds, but they’re not. I thought winter would be over by now, but it’s not. I thought I would be finished with my Hemingway project by now, but I’m not.

I have made it to A Moveable Feast, which is actually one of my favorites. And I laughed out loud last night when I read this sentence: “In those days, though, the spring always came finally
but it was frightening that it had nearly failed.”

This from a book that was written before I was born, printed when I was two.  Some things really are universal, seemingly endless winters being one of them. I heard the other day that we have had 118 inches of snow this year. But it would take four more feet to break the record. Clearly, it could be worse.

And so life goes on, those birds will come, this winter will end, my brain fog will lift. I will stop whining (I promise) and things will be fine. Things are fine, I know that, really. I have little to complain about and much to be grateful for. I haven’t forgotten that, not completely, it is just something that keeps hiding in the dusty grey corners of my mind.

But with spring comes spring cleaning,that deep down get the cobwebs out and the sparkle on kind of cleaning, and I intend to apply this to my brain as well as my house. What’s good for one can’t hurt the other.

In the meantime, I’m planning on faking it, plastering a big giant smile on my face, even if I have to hold it on with tape. Because sometimes, when you fake something like a smile, you actually start to feel happy. It’s true, you should try it. Go ahead, giggle a little.

I’m going to find things to laugh about, play music I can dance to, skip around my house like a little girl. If anyone sees me they will think I’m crazy, but it’s just me and all these cats, and well, okay, I am a little crazy. Stir crazy at the very least.

And then I’m going to close my eyes and pretend there are flowers in my garden and crickets chirping beneath my window and warm breezes fluttering fingertips over my skin. Hey, there’s nothing wrong with a little pretending every now and then, right?

I just have to exercise my imagination a little, it’s been dormant for a while, it’s out of shape and a little logey (which I find to be the funniest of words). I might even imagine myself climbing that tree and tickling those birds who turned out to be starlings, or perhaps, since this is my imagination, I’ll  turn them into blue birds and goldfinches and even a hummingbird or two.

Okay let’s not get carried away.

Maybe just robins.

Today I am over at Vision & Verb

breaking up with winter, and hopefully,

getting my sense of humor back.

Join us, won’t you? One of us might need a hug…

::

painting pictures in a world without color.

i crawl into this hole that nature has provided,

sing myself to sleep.

when i awaken,

clamber out of my cave

to see sun

glinting off leaves

and green mirrors,

i will have grown.

yesterday, driving home in late afternoon

ten deer made brazen by late winter hunger

dotted a snow-filled field.

ears pricked up as i passed,

but they were too hungry to stop eating,

too hungry to be wary.

::

i did not stop to take a picture,

did not want to disturb their forage.

but if i had, i would have told them

that i understand their hunger,

for i am just that hungry for the sun.

you write
when there are words,
and when there are none,
you wait.

it’s the silence that drives you mad,
despite its claim to necessary.

you run
when you are able,
and when your muscles fail,
you sit.

it is inertia that holds you hostage,
the resting that reclaims you.

you sob
when there are tears,
and when they’ve run their course,
you inhale.

it is the cleansing that keeps you whole,
a release to fix your broken.

you laugh
when there is joy,
and as the world reveals its soul,
you smile.

it is the hug you offer humanity
that gives you back your own.

you live
when there is life,
and with each breath,
you appreciate.

it is dawn that keeps you wondering,
as you watch the night unfold.

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this post is part of one shot wednesday