A children’s poem I wrote after taking this photo of our NYC sky, walking home from work. Funny how things come full circle. As a child, I wrote notebooks full of poetry. Haven’t written a poem since I was about fourteen years old. Over the past decades these words would have come to me in song form, but now they have no melody. Just words.
By Jennifer Bruce
This everlasting winter clings
Like seconds to the day
And shrouds the world in heavy wings
Of pigeon feather gray
And how my bones like branches ache
For wanting of the sun
Beneath the ice I fear they’ll break
One by one by one
It feels we are forgotten here
Abandoned to this cold
I dream the sun is ever near
To burn this gray to gold
No time for songwriting these days, but I keep hearing little poems in my head. When I was a young girl of about eleven, I would set my little digital alarm clock to 5:00am so I could be the first person awake in our apartment. I would sit in the dining room and look out the window at the dim, sprawl of Manhattan, 35 floors below and around me as the sun was coming up. It was my therapy, writing. It still is.
The cold continues. Oppressive.
Today the sky is blue. I am trying hard to notice the absence of gray. To focus on the sun today as another Nor’easter is bearing down on the East Coast again tomorrow. The snow still cakes the sidewalks in icy, filthy heaps, restricting our ability to walk and cross the streets. I am grateful that my father is in Florida! I watch older people trying to navigate the ice and slush, that ultimately freezes back into ice.
I don’t usually struggle with winter blues. I get why Scandinavians are depressed. Enough gray already!
I am grateful for:
This cup of street-cart coffee
My husband who made me a sandwich this morning to bring to work for lunch
My boys who were still asleep when I left this morning
The hug I got from the art teacher
The high-five I got from a 2 year old
Spring. I’m waiting!