I was never really a particularly chatty person. I always had my nose in a book, and I could never abide foolishness much. I was more interested in capturing catapillars and watching them change. Looking back, It felt like even as a child I was an old soul.
This, coupled with parents who were always at each others throat didn’t leave much time for celebrations. Especially not of birthdays. I don’t remember ever having a birthday party when I was young. That was never a big thing at our house. There were more pressing needs.
I do remember it being a day of protest, or acting up on my part. Thinking on this day I was somehow immune. The problem was my mom didn’t much abide foolishness either. So usually with my acting up, I got the order to “go pick a switch”. Birthday or no birthday.
new butterfly soars
on the wings of summer wind –
the nature of change
For dVerse Poets Pub where it is haibun monday and the prompt is “Birthday”.
Kim is hosting. Come do some reading or paticipate here.
For Tanka Tuesday over at Colleen’s where it’s Poet’s choice this week. Stop by and do some reading or join in here.
Who stops to look up at the stars anymore anyway? Lately, I find myself doing that more and more. It seems my head is always in the clouds. My way of stopping to smell the roses, I guess. It feels like a stolen moment that brings me to a place of wonder. If only for a moment.
Last night we had four inches of slurpy snow. This dawn, through the rhytmn of the melt, I hear the call of birds in flight. Wonder where they have been!
Last week I was on the hunt for spring in the garden. The wheat brown of winter holds fast. Not much has changed there. The pointy ears of tulips are nowhere in sight. Nothing yet from vines that make their home on the fence.
There are some noticable changes to the pear tree though. The buds that dawdled during the winter, are suddenly more robust. And the yearly co-mingling of the honeysuckle and grape is unavoidable. They are lined up to do what they do – run wild. All caught up in the fervor of march madness!
slurpy snow linger
on bare branches brooding
in the face of spring