Dear readers, in case you are following the book I'm blogging, Just like Eve, I am close to completion, have hoped to post a selection for it at least every other month (alternating with another post on off months), and this month would be the month for the next selection. However, when I began writing the book in late 2017, I was not expecting I might walk into portions my own fiction. Through much loss and change, I find myself paralyzed, mute. Perhaps I am in a season of hibernation. At the beginning of this month, an astonishing downfall of snow collapsed upon my region. I can't call it a "snowstorm," for it was too quiet, too gentle, too beautiful. But when we all woke up, we found ourselves buried. I reflected on the metaphor of it for me, and here's what came . . .
The creatures of fur follow the signs of Nature
We
creatures of skin run to and fro
no
matter Her works of beauty or terror
Snow
coming, forecasters warn
The
furs, ready, hibernate
The
skins, deaf, go about their day
All
afternoon, snow surprises
dumping,
dumping,
softly,
quietly,
deceptively
The
day still young
the
sky turns dark
Snowflakes
stream,
glistening
the blackening sky
in
lights of white
haloed
in orange
Any
who slow themselves
who
sit
who
watch
fuse
with the flakes in stillness
5
am, calls go out
Schools
are closed
Businesses
are closed
Roads
are blocked
All
are snowed in
What if calls
come the night before?
Or
before quitting time the day before?
When
the creatures of fur,
with
no forecasters,
are
already nestled in hibernation?
says
the master,
“For My load is
light, and My burden is easy.”
Racing
about, we wonder how
Could we hear the wisdom of the furs
who
follow the signs of Nature
and
work when it is time to work
play
when it is time to play
rest
when it is time to rest
and who know there is a season
for outings
and a season for hibernation?
I
of skin,
used
to the race,
am
paralyzed, mute
Could I
learn from the furs?
Could I
learn
of
a time to speak,
a
time be silent,
a
time to walk,
a
time to rest,
and
a season to hibernate?
