Sounds Seem Insufficient

These are the sounds of my day
I try to recreate in letters
the sounds waves curling into
shapes of each character

the character of the sound
attempted to be mimicked

walking across the snow
keeek keeek

the wind blows across the sloping hill
catching dried leaves and whisps of snow
sssheeeewww….

my lips and tongue perform gymnastics
trying out the different combinations
the sound of sh and chu together
a k and kckkk in quick succession
my tongue rolls together and clicks at the roof
of my mouth to make
the sounds of these everyday things
dry leaves
red boots on new snow
cool wind
brown paper bags crunching in your grasp

the sounds are translatable
but what of visions
so lovely
they want more
expression than apprehension
from the eyes
and the beauty of their looks

twinkling golden tiny white lights
that frame your simple porch and iron work
make my heart hurt
glimmering in a snowy cold night
tiny lights burst to be released from the
silence of my rib cage

what sound do they make?
silent appreciation and a wordless gaze
are not sufficient
a soft gentle sweet hmmmm
perhaps
mmmmm….
held as long as the memory
lasts

If you read my blog regularly you might notice two things:

1) I usually don't write about everyday happenings. I try to write more 'substantial' blogs. Why? Maybe I take blogging too seriously, and

2) A few months back I wrote a blog entitled "Winter Wonderland" in which I extolled the virtues of a cold, snowy day in terms of the "global warming" phenomenon that has been noted by Al Gore and other important thinkers in the past few years.

Well, anyone that has been alive in Michigan for some time has noticed that it often snows in April. It might seem odd, but it does. It is actually relatively normal. Today, at the Institutional Development Day at the Center campus of Macomb Community College, I was talking to an older librarian about the weather. She said that one winter, some years ago, it rarely snowed one winter and was unseasonably warm. The winter was then followed by a snow storm in May - a snow which lingered on the ground. Now that seems bizarre.

What I am basically trying to communicate is that I am again pleased (albeit freezing) that it is cold one last time before spring. Doesn't it seem even colder in close proximity to the sun-drenched days that we have been enjoying? I think so.

Maybe I like routine. Maybe I am a glutton for punishment. Maybe I don't like the idea of polar bears and penguins cast away alone, forlorn on floating sheets of antarctic ice. Maybe I like wearing my long black faux fur hooded winter coat one last time. Maybe I can't afford spring clothes yet. Maybe I use the word "maybe' too much.

Winter is a stubborn old man. And he won't go out without a struggle. Perhaps he likes to linger to see some of the early flowers, like daffodils and myrtle. Do you think he likes to harass us a little more before he leaves? Maybe.