The Wearing of Winter

I understand the term 'cabin fever' now. Not that I didn't understand this term before, but it's been so darn cold for so long this winter, being confined to one room to conserve heat is mental torture.

It's Spring in New England, but there was a blizzard in Massachusetts today. Spring seems so far away... I just want to throw open the windows and let fresh winds clean the winter stagnation from the air! Warmer weather is in the forecast, so I'm hoping that April Fool's Day does not throw another snow ball our way!

May April showers come your way!

Andrea

Fall in New England

Driving along tree-lined back-roads painted under a canopy of golden and sienna leaves.
Occasional pops of cherry red.
The music of Mozart on the airwaves.
A harvest of colors and sounds on an October New England morning.
I remember these days as a child; walking home from school and looking for the driest golden leaves I could step on, just to hear the crunch under foot.
Today was one of those days.
Blue sky.
Cooler temps.
A taste of winter in the air. The golden leaves on the sides of the roadway waiting for a child's footstep, and the crunch that followed.
Timeless.

AME

Midnight

In the still of the night,
under the warmth of the blankets,
his fingers find my hand.
He wraps them silently around my fingers.
I hear him breathe.
Slowly.
Deeply.
He's fast asleep.
But, somehow, his love for me is there.
His gentle touch in slumber
fills my heart.
Love. It never sleeps.

AME

Becoming - a poem by Andrea

Becoming me.

A difficult discovering...

of lost memories, 

births, 

deaths,

and forgotten dreams.

A painful process... 

of taking risks, 

losing,

winning,

and waiting.

A tender time...

of holding friendships

to the light,

touching the qualities

and imperfections woven within,

and sometimes doing without.

Becoming me.

Learning to believe

in a friend that has lived in my soul since time began.

To forgive the sins of the fathers,

and of the self.

To test the limits of laughter,

and tears.

To heed the call of instinct,

and not question actions guided by love.

Becoming me.

Understanding the importance of my life.

Embracing pleasure.

Looking out for number one,

yet treating all spirits with the gentleness and independence

I allot myself.

Becoming me.

Realizing that failure is another path to success,

That sorrow is not infinite,

That happiness is fragile,

and knowing that beyond today,

there will never be another me.

- AME September '89 

Calm after the storm

We were lucky.
The storm spared us
from power loss and ice dams.
This time.
Some were not so lucky -
losing power, property, and some - their lives.
New England is a beautiful place
with weather that can make each day a paradise
in Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall.
But weather patterns are changing.
The storms I welcomed in youth can now become threatening and violent.
The rain can turn to flood waters.
The warm days to scorching fires.
Yes, weather days are changing.
But, there is the calm that follows the storm
that still brings the wonder of blue skies,
the radiance of sunshine
and the song of hope in the voices of the birds in the air.
Storm. Calm. Hope.
The trifecta still works.

ame 2/9/13

Airport Diner

Voices bounce against each other
and echo against these thick, glass restaurant walls.

The heavy sound of dishes clashing

shout out from the kitchen door.

Silverware and glassware chime in,

while the abbreviated sentences of diners add to the breakfast noise - a conflagration of sounds.

The airport diner.

A stop for waves of hungry humans

waiting for their turn

to eat-and-run.

Waiting for their turn to consume moments, meals and time

before they fly away,

leaving echos of words in their wake.

ame

Sept 2011

Vanity

Age sneaks up on me like an invisible pen.

Drawing lines.

Adding depth and volume

to my neck and chin - previously smooth and slender.

It's challenging to see yourself in your mind's eye as the youthful young woman

you once were,

only to continue to be greeted by an older woman in the mirror.

There's still beauty there;

but, veils of wisdom and time have carved their memories into your smile and your eyes.

The spark of surprise and the blush of anticipation

can be found somewear in the valleys of wear.

Oh, how I miss those pristine fairways.

ame

1/11/13