Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

Wind won’t wait and trees can’t run So leaves must fly with blossom and seeds Till earth seems awry Just a snow-capped reminder of spring.

Yellow daffodil, green grass, Be careful, let the lawnmower pass, By yellow, shining, bright delight. My daffodil, green leafed Is yellow breeding Silver dandelion seeds.

For a moment the gray changed color, flickering with life; There were lights round the flowers Yellow and red like silk, blue carpets spreading, threaded with gold And grass grown too long— Wet grass still, sodden, strong with the power of winter Old; for a moment Then the light disappeared.

Squirrels ate the last blooms of spring-- Winter still pouring ice-driven streams To wash away tears. The thing is, Summer thought it was dreaming. Squirrels, scared this year’s weather might bring Brown grass for dinner instead of green, Quickly devoured the last blooms of spring While winter poured cold-weather streams. I guess it's sort of, almost, vaguely similar to a triolet. But the squirrels are real and they just at the last yellow crocus.

Big tree, medium shadows; little boy kneels down. Tiny bird, wriggling worm; he watches with a frown. Bird tugs hard. Worm backs down, wriggling underground. Cold winter yard, just thawing with sun, just damp with rain; little boy’s knees are getting muddy again. Then the bird tugs, gulps, flies away.

Some days shine. Sun-rays flick from finger-ends. Lines of light trail down the wandering creases, send your eyes to mine. I chase away your blues. Some days shine. Steel of toe-caps bright as summer, glint of teeth that smile like sun delighting winter’s news. Some days shine more than shoes.

“March winds,” the poet said… “March winds and April showers.” But wind-blown rain and sleet and snow were driving early spring shoots underground. “March winds.” The mother marched against the wind, head down, arms wrapped round body, feet pushing their weary plod. The little child danced merrily. March springs on.

The web gathered dewdrops like jewels each night, melting them to sunshine during the day. The spider crouched inside her hole waiting ever-patient for her prey. The rain was black as night, thick as snowfall on the plain. Then pouring water washed it all away... Spider crawled up the waterspout.

I saw the showers descend today From skies that glowered thunderous gray; I saw a squirrel on its way To hide. I saw the pale blue cloud of sun; The squirrel scampered to his fun Dug up my plants; the yard’s begun To die. Spring smiled and I Saw life.

The greening shoot was almost lost in graying cold wet day. It trembled in a morning breeze. It shuddered as a teasing squirrel nipped its tip and fled. It shrank as dead beneath snow’s blanket fallen overnight, bewailed its plight. And then it reached for sun and shone, daffodil bright.

The bird-bath glinted in the sun, smooth glass-topped fun, awaiting passing birds. Above were cries of glee, or geese. And down below small squirrel hunted nuts’ forgotten holes. A tom-cat stirred. Bird fluttered down to bird-bath glinting glorious in the light then stayed, afraid, soul-trapped while cat strode watching, free.

The sun was shining—perfect weather for a party. Jugglers juggled. Mimes mimed. Kids and kittens ran wild. Dignitaries drove past in black sedans with tinted windows. “Was that the Mayor? Did you catch the plate?” There was even a royal or two. I lifted my kid in my arms so he see could Prince Phillip wave. “Mom, what’s a prince?” A tiny car trailed the parade, driver going slow, passenger leaning low out the window-frame and smiling high. Don’t know who he was, but my kid said afterwards he was the best bit. I think he liked the car.

There’s a squirrel on the tree outside, spins round the trunk and glides to land where tulips are coming to bud. One bulb dug up, he takes a bite then chases after friends. I wonder if tulip bulbs still flower with bites taken out of the end. There’s a bird in the tree outside. It chases squirrels away than flies in search of early worms. That tulip stem’s a flower. He spits it out. I wonder if stems produce buds when they’re battered about. There’s a cat outside, chases squirrels and birds and the tulip’s trod down in the mud.

There were rabbits in the meadow. “Can I chase them?” asked May, but “No way,” said her Mom. “Why not?” “’Cause it’s not kind.” May’s brother played football with her Dad while May went to pick flowers. Dandelions splintered streaks of sunshine in the grass. Then a rabbit passed too close. “Can I chase it?” She didn’t wait to hear, but followed it to the trees where it quickly disappeared. All that was left was a trail of warm rabbit “eggs” that May added to her flowers. “It’s an Easter Rabbit Mom,” she said. “He left his eggs for me.”

Too much to do, Jess takes children to school, shops for food, runs the dishwasher, rescues a spoon from the clattering disposal and collapses at last in a heap. No collapsing allowed, Jess shifts washing to dryer, reloads the machine, cleans the floor, sweeps the leftovers stored from the kids scattered meals, tattered heels, and then tries to relax. No relaxing allowed, Jess dreams coffee and fun and looks out at the sun—cut the grass, aching back but hurray the hot job’s quickly done. Sunlight and grass-seed and vitamin D… a coffee reward for succeeding, plus children for fun.

Hop. “I’m a bunny,” said Tom. Hop hop. “I’m a frog.” Hop, wriggle and squirm. “Look Mom. Now I’m a fish.” Mom wished he’d play more quietly while she struggled to clean the room. He's in the laundry. “Please.” “I’m a kitty,” said Tom. Hop. She fitted the gate to the bathroom door. “You stay out now.” But Tom just hopped the gate. “Horse racing, Mom.” Hop. “Not on the stairs.” Tom hopped. Mom caught. They hopped together to the kitchen. “Help me bake a cake?” Tom hopped on a chair—“Yes Mom”—leaning into the task. Hope hopped awake.

“You’re not wearing green,” said the boy, but the girl pointed out the bright ribbon in her hair. Pink flowers and pale green leaves were embroidered there. “You’re not wearing green,” but this girl had dots of green on each fingernail and she hooked them like claws. “Not wearing green.” “Yes I am but I ain’t showing you.” He moved on without pause. “Not green.” The new boy pulled a scab from his hand and bled green goo. “Please Miss! Tommy’s an alien.” The teacher smiled, green-eyed, green lipstick, green teeth, and answered the child. “Ah well, so am I.”

The taxi was stuck, so they bundled out with clown-suited babe underarm. The bobble-hat bulged beneath red hood and he felt like a doll would, rigidly stiff in his Mom’s arms. She wobbled while Dad paid what they owed. “Sure you’re okay?” “It’s not far.” They strode over unseasonal snow. Then she slipped towards the black-iced ditch and baby slid under her arms; she saw his small red kayak floating away and screamed for help. With black coat billowing her husband leapt to their aid. Then, “Sure you’ll be okay?” the taxi-driver asked. She answered no, climbing safely back inside.

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—” * I wandered two roads, Three or four or five. Two roads I saw and spring new-sprung and bright Was waving rainbowed silken sheens on one while ice In winter’s dark lay shadowed Sunless hallowed on the next. Two roads and vexed I wondered where to go. The summer’s light poured warmth and heat— I saw it shimmer slightly with the day— Two roads and fallen leaves and blight And scents of loss; the mulched decay Of fall. Two roads and more diverging call to me and I— I’ve lost my way. * Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken

The professor ducked under the counter with his soft drink carefully cradled so not a drop spilled. “Nice job,” said his wife, brandishing the wine-bottle on her way to the deck. “Like to see you do that maneuver after you’ve drunk some glasses of this.” Candles flickered in the evening air, and the scent of hyacinths almost made him sneeze. He’d sworn he’d rather eat inside—March really isn’t spring—but she’d insisted. Candles flickered, and in the kitchen, the counter-top, left open, crashed suddenly closed. No worries; professor and wife had other maneuvers in mind. Their dinner grew cold.