Saturday, April 9, 2011
It is an ugly season, spring. And yet I anticipate its messy arrival.
I just can’t resist the crunching of the rotten ice, the gush of rushing water over the flooded yard. Booters and soggy socks are left on the front porch.
The rug on the line hangs there for days, the sodden air holding in the dampness.
The picnic table, mildewed and cold, waits to host a summer gathering.
The leafless tree exposes an abandoned bird nest.
Nearby, the decomposing sunflower seeds mingle with the unraked leaves and broken twigs under the deserted birdfeeder.
Growling half tons swerve through the mucky ruts of my road, checking out the water levels at the bridge.
“Any fish runnin’ yet?”
The sparkly white winter landscape is reduced to a few soiled spoiled patches of sorry looking snow, stained by traffic and dogs.
Birth is messy and noisy and wet. It takes its time. It makes me feel excited and apprehensive and brave.
Congratulations! It’s spring! Ugly, but with a face a mother can love!
©Conni Cartlidge, 2011