THE SETTING SUN of early January
hits the upstairs window
of a house on Chamberlain Drive
in just such a way
that it blinds us
here in our dining room
with promises of Ground Hog’s Day just 4 week’s off
and beyond that another 4, crocus.
Don’t be fooled.
It was 3 degrees yesterday morning in Lower Salem,
a woman in town told me.
(Okay, it was Walmart,
but nobody wants to admit they go there.)
The frigid temps don’t keep the kids at the College
from wearing shorts and sandals
while crossing to the Dining Hall.
(Stay off Butler St, if the sight makes you shiver.)
I love my job.
Have I mentioned that?
I wrote for 15 years,
then the words dried up,
so I got a job
and as soon as I started working again
the words came back,
so I kept the job.
A writer needs to be around people,
to be out in the flow of life,
to be away from the words
and then come back
as a daily rhythm….
…and not to be frightened by silences.
There is beauty even when things are frozen.