The camellia bushes in my folks’ front yard are blooming again.
It’s spring, dammit, and I can do without it. I like winter; fall and winter are my favorite seasons. I prefer the gray middleage-ness of them. There is poetry in cooler weather and shorter days that is harder to find in the brash young light of spring and summer. Fountain pens and boogie boards conflict.
Check out this poem by Joe Salerno, about poetry. Here are a few lines:
it’s an art as simple as drinking water
from a tin cup; of loving that moment
at the end of autumn, say, when the air
holds no more promises, and the days are short
and likely to be gray.
A bland light is best to see it in.
Middle age brings it to flower.
That’s right, Joe.
Metaphor 