Some order to Feeling

This month has asked so much from us. My peach tree in full bloom one day and the very next, branches weighed down under heavy snow. Will the buds survive? It’s too soon to tell. The daffodils were laid to rest like patients, the roads froze and cracked, exposing hazards. A warm breeze on an 80 degree day carried in a snowstorm the next, a Trojan horse was welcomed and we bought it. This is the weather doing its own “trying” because this is what change really looks like. Like the buzzing around of confused carpenter bees, like tall virgin grass under ice, our atmosphere is forging in a new direction, and it’s been messy. Next comes the traditional practice of complaining about the weather, a requirement it seems, of being human. But your whining is justified, trust me! Too much of our personality is derived from what’s going on outdoors. Am I a free spirited explorer today? Or a medieval hobbit? Have I proclaimed loyalty to my shorts and sandals again or must I cheat on them in boots. Don’t look, Birkenstocks, I do love you, and …. I thought I was ready but I’m not. Please wait for me. I always loved you over the boots. I am plagued with guilt over teasing the charcoal grill that it may cook for me once again, only to leave it in the cold, uncovered. I owe the house a sincere apology for having the heat and the air conditioner on in the same day. Be easy on me, hvac, I didn’t ask for this! As the wind blew the ornamental pear petals around they mixed with snowflakes and two unlikely sides met each other. Oh the lessons in March of surrender.

March proves to us there is no order, at times only chaos. In life too, we can be slightly prepared to feel, but never enough prepared. Sit in the sun when you can, play in the snow too. Raise your arms in surrender and worry less. Accepting things out of order is the only way sometimes.

Some order to feeling

As much as you can see

In black and white

And know

A door will slam, unexpected

And rearrange the order

An out of order 

Misplaced rage appears 

fear of loud noises. 

Some days i am a net

Parked in a breeze 

Where birds of sorrow fly low 

And get caught 

Too many at a time or none at all

Unorderly fashioned 

We can’t instruct the birds or keep them

In a row

The feelings come 

They stay and they go 

Their feathers break our hearts 

Before we are ready 

The chaos of oranges 

Tumbling onto the floor 

Only because one is removed 

Wipes out an arrangement 

And leaves a mess 

The sting on an ocean day 

Comes at a rotten time 

Who is in charge 

And shouldn’t we have some order 

Thank you for reading and as always reach out to me because I DO love to chat!

readnwrite11@gmail.com