A poem of longing
This post originally appeared on thecreative.cafe.
This week, the world turned bitter,
as if Mother Nature decided she’d given us
a long enough reprieve from winter.
And so she sent her sparkling frost,
her freezing temperatures,
a breeze sharp enough to cut
through fleece and down.
She sent ice skating across the surface of the pond,
refracting crystals creeping up tiny shoots once green,
bare branches creaking and crackling in the wind.
Safe inside, I wrap myself in blankets and kittens,
distract myself with endless books,
but my mind wanders elsewhere.
To a place where my toes dip into the surf,
where we leave a pair of happy footprints in the sand
as we search for seashells.
Where we seek a shady spot,
the bite of ice-cold boozy fruit,
a bit of breeze
to cool our skin
a brief reprieve from blazing heat.
A year ago, we did not know what was coming,
that our chance for travel, for the solace of sand
would morph from possibility to far-off dream.
That our house, our refuge, might start to feel
like a prison we cannot escape.
A year ago, we did not know
or else I might have raced back down
to the water’s edge one more time
before we left.
I might have savored each moment
just a little bit more.
We might have never left at all.
I wish.
Oh how I wish.
