We had our first snow of the winter yesterday. As always there is something special about that first snow. Even though it causes chaos when traveling or trying to get to work, there is a solitude and sense of peace that comes with it as well. The earth seems to quieten somehow. All of the peripheral noise of the city is muffled by a blanket of white. The grassy side garden outside my screened-in porch is now covered with snow. Only a few blades of grass peep out above it. The only recognizable features are the trees and my bird feeder, which is empty moments after I fill it. I struggle to remember the beautiful flowers I had this past summer. It seems ages since the bluebells danced in my garden or the aroma of the roses wafted through the air. This poem is about not just the snow, but about how everything in life is only for a season. Whether we are lovers of snow or prefer the summer sun, it is only a season. Whether life if full of pleasure or seemingly unbearable pain, it is only a season.

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The fresh snow covers the hardened earth
    with its blanket of white.
Quietness overcomes noise.
Unheard stillness echoes loudly in my ears,
    raping my senses.
Small patches of brown, withered grass
    keeps its head above the blanket,
    peering only slightly higher.

“The snow will surely melt.
You may not see me, but I am still here.
It is only a season.”

Covered up, grappling, without strength,
    you try to keep your head above it all.
Scales fall from the eyes.

Truth is exposed.
Colour is lost.
Resiliency has died.
Your beauty has fade.
You become the grass.

Trampled beneath unsuspecting feet,
    you are invisible to the human eye.
Straining forward in one last attempt,
    your pleas fall on deafened ears.
Your voice becomes silenced with the snow.
Where are the children playing at your feet,
    the voice of the songbird, 
    the sound of the young lovers?

In summer, in your prime, you were admired.
Now there is no warmth to be found.
It is only a season.

Pregnant with dissipating hope,
    the next season will be better.
Winter turns to spring.

Rejuvenation and rebirth – the words only
    muttered, and never known.
Will this blanket suffocate you?
Or is it’s beauty – a mirage or a dream?
Black stands disguised in a cloak of white.

Tenderly, a baby is rocked to sleep.
The ivory blanket covers and slowly
    chokes life from its first breath.

How can you know when spring appears?
Will you then be sprung, or will you
    slumber in impatience?
Will colour and beauty again be realised?
Will darkness flee in a moment?
Like a man leaving only his footprints,
    you are left alone.
Unanswered questions, never known.

Is this life all there is,
    or is it, only
        a season?

Many of you remember by wonderful silver little car the Tiburon. It really was a nice car, but it had 83,000 miles, no warranty and was definitely starting to show some wear and tear. Though it was speedy, it wasn't the most economical on petrol either. All of these factors and then some is what led me to my new 2010 Hyundai Accent SE.

With my starting graduate school next month, it seemed right to start off with a reliable vehicle that has a full warranty and cheaper miles per gallon in the city 27 and highway 38, and a little less each month on payments as compared to the Tiburon.

I will continue to teach part time at USI while I study full time at the Academy of Art University in San Francisco. It is all online, apart from the summer months when I plan to go to California for the classes. This will enable me to meet the faculty and they me. The MFA will take about 2 1/2 years to complete and is something I have not been able to fully pursue until now. I had started once before, but due to several factors (car accident) I had to put everything on hold.

I'm really looking forward to the new journey and having a new apple green car that gets the BBC World Service on the radio is incredible!

In January My fish died and for 20 days I cried and lamented. In February My best friend said I was crazy and extremely demented. In March I moved into my new home. I couldn’t buy so I rented. In April I won an award, but wasn’t there when it was presented. In May My new neighbour’s loud music caused me to be tormented. In June My best friend said he was going to have me committed.

In July I found out that I was sexually oriented. In August I did a very small sin, but never repented. In September I found an antique gold coin and had it re-minted. In October The red wine I made last year, finally fermented. In November I agreed I was crazy. I meant it and consented to be committed. In December My best friend died and I did nothing.

From Bob, Peanut, Charlie, Lucy, maybe the innocent bystander, and I…have a very nice holiday. Have a cracking Christmas, a happy Hanukkah, an inkwedible Kwanza'a, a wonderful Winter Solstice, a naughty New Year, and a ________ _________ (fill in the blank in case I missed something accidentally)!

What else could I possibly say? Whenever I post these blogs, I have an option of placing 'tags,' which categorize the posting for easy location. The only category that possibly fit this was "HUMOUR." However, upon further looking at this image I decided there was nothing really funny about it. It is quite disturbing. Imagine having to sit in his lap. YIKES.

Never looking up or daring to meet our eyes.
She is a black crow.

Children at home, pretending to play,
The unfaithful far away husband has now flown.
She is a black crow.

Sitting still and alone,
Hidden in shadows we’ve never known before.
She is a black crow.

Behind a veil of dark mystery,
Left without a melody or song.
She is a black crow.

Black crow, I saw her today,
Looked in my direction, but then looked away from me.
She is a black crow.

Tears in her eyes run gently down her cheek.
She is unable to speak and quickly turns.
She is a black crow.

Why doesn’t she fly, far away,
Like the eagle in the clouds?
She lives her life a prisoner, in captivity.

She is a black crow. She is a black crow.

This poem was written for my daughter Ruth. Having lived 12 years in the US and due to uncontrollable situations our relationship has been strained. I seldom hear from her and she from me. Due to an often lack of finances I am unable to fly to England as I would desire. Though I pretend everything is fine, it is not. Seldom do days pass that I don't think of her and regret many decisions I have made. She always was the best thing that ever happened to me and I am so very proud of her achievements.

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If I should wake before I die, I hope to see you again.
For without you in my life, I have lived in the slumber of solitude.
Your absence causes shadows to surround my being.
Walking, I am as a blind man, left without props.
My only aid of survival is your picture etched upon my mind.
Your image, ever before me, are dreams of unreality.

If I should wake before I die, I hope to hold you again.
The smell of your skin remains lodged within my nostrils.
As an intoxicating perfume, I am drunk with pity.
The soft locks of your hair create a warm blanket in my darkness.
Reaching, I touch only years of void and torment.
My hand fitting evenly within yours is now withering alone.

If I should wake before I die, I hope you know me again.
Time recreates everything and yet I am the same as I once was.
Don’t become a lover with guilt, for it wasn’t you who changed.
It was my destiny and my life which drove me far away.
Letters and conversation silenced as I drifted into the dark,
Only to find myself years later, a prisoner of my dreams.

If I should die before I wake, remember I loved you....
again and again.... remember I loved you.