A teeny weeny poem of mine is hanging from a tree and fluttering in the summer breeze at the Waterford Township Public Library at Michigan! And it will be there all of this month. It is titled When it Snows in Spring.
I am also back to having fun putting up short verses on Instagram. It was meant to be a simple daily exercise to make sure I didn't go to bed without having written a few lines at least; it has quickly become the only exercise I am aiming to complete in any given day. And this is how, yet again, something I concocted to make myself happy has become something that sends me on an occasional guilt-trip.
Meanwhile, in Toronto, winter has more or less disappeared but it keeps getting cold every so often as if winter wants to remind us that she hasn't entirely left and is lurking around the corner. Winter is never truly gone. She is going to get you when you are not watching.
Little D has been around for a little longer than 11 months. Soon we'll be measuring him in years, not months. He'll become a toddler and not be an infant anymore. Whenever their children cross age milestones, people say time flew by very quickly. All I can say is that this has been a very long year that gave the illusion of passing by swiftly. Time, up to his usual tricks.
Updated on Sunday, 6 August 2023
After years of searching, I finally found the poem I had submitted. Here it is!
When it snows in spring
Spring is here
but it is snowing
a niveous haze
at first weightless, benign,
piling on fast and thick
bare branches groan under
the swelling burden
it is the price they pay
for daring to reach
up to the blue skies