A Trying Season and A Season Trying

This winter waged a lengthy war against color, and even my spirit has surrendered the last of its bright hues to wave a solemn white flag.  

This is my fancy way of telling you that I've met up with my old friend Melancholy.  She's a treasure, that one, but she isn't the best influence on me.  

For instance, today she tried to convince me to stay in my pajamas, write poetry and polish off the rest of the TJ's crispy crunchy chocolate chip cookies.  She didn't have any ideas as to what I should do with the children while I wallowed, so I didn't follow through on her first two suggestions.  

I got dressed.  (Please hold your applause until the end.)  I fed and dressed the children.  We bought milk.  We returned the books and found some new ones.  We got one haircut and two lollipops.  (Now...CLAP!)  Thank you, thank you very much.  

Now that I have met my productivity quota and nap time has commenced, I can sneak in a visit with Melancholy.  She and I went outside in the rain just now, and you won't believe what we found.  It was almost enough to scare my old friend away entirely.  

We saw Spring.  New life.  Color.  Or, as it's lovingly referred to here in Maine, Mud Season. Whatever you call it, we saw a season trying.  And I just couldn't hold my applause until the end.  

A Season Trying

The crocuses send up scouts. 

Up go green periscopes, reporting splotches of lingering snow 

Interspersed with patches of gold tinted grass,

Where the sun stretched down to touch the toes of earth

And ripple warmth across the icy ground.

A sprout peers from under its white blanket,

Shivers and slivers back beneath the covers, 

Hits snooze to sleep a little longer.

It's just the false alarm of a warm afternoon.

The coast is not clear.

The tender petals remain a clinched fist.

They dare not unfold

Lest they be trampled by the bullying frost.

But it will not be long now.

White gives way to brown, and brown to green.

It is a season trying, trying,

And trying again.

Oh Melancholy, see what you made me do? You made me go all Jack Handey with the blog.  You are a mean girl.  Go away.  Spring is here, and I don't need you anymore.  My cabin fever has broken and my color has finally returned.