Turn Around

I like this time of year because it usually comes along with the very first hope of spring. It’s the first time in months when there’s a better than even chance that the next week will be warmer than the last, that a few bulbs will start popping out of the ground, that maybe, for once, the waves will clean up a little bit (although that’s not relevant for me at the moment in Vancouver). Graphically it looks like this:

January marks the bottom of the mean temperature curve for the year. Note how the green band denoting the mean high and low temperatures begins to creep up at the end of the month. Still cold, but there's hope.

Biking to work this morning helped make this clear. There were a few more birds, there are a few buds swelling on the trees, the oddball snowbank was that much smaller… Here’s to new things arising from the fertile soils made rich this fall and during winter’s sleep. Here’s to a beautiful life that we will remember formally this weekend even though she’s with us everyday. Here’s to the sunshine streaming through our windows.


This wound on my finger tip
from a serrated miss
heals inexorably.
The smooth and printless
scar becomes
raised fresh skin print.

The mind wanders toward future
things in this way;
to become stretched between
that drawing appeal
and anchoring, woven
indelible marks,
the delicate etchings
and the careless rubble.

The next thing I build
will crumble in front of me.
The next thing I build
will be perfect and eternal.
They will all be mine and internal.
they will all be entered
into the unfireable canon.