Category: Spring

Shifting

Michèle GriskeyLeave a comment

This is the time of year I love most (even if my allergies disagree).

A bald eagle in a tree near the North Valley Overlook on Turtleback Mountain

The birdsong and frog song, the succession of blooming plants, the longer days, and the shifts between sunshine and rain.

I’m finishing up a project that I’ll be sad to leave. I love the characters, the setting, the story. I’m sure I’ll be doing future revisions and edits, shifting and changing, but for now, I’m going to move onto the next big thing.

These moments of shifting can feel good. “Hey, I finished a book!”

Yet, I can also feel unsure.

The possibility awaits: wonderful and scary; exciting and daunting; a dash forward and a long pause. All those contrasts hit me, freeze me.

I’m back to the act of creating again. The pen to the notebook–

shifting.

Spring and Everything

Michèle GriskeyLeave a comment

My music tonight is the song of Pacific tree frogs in the wetlands near my house. My office window faces the stage.

My sons want to know why frogs advertising their manliness brings me joy. True enough. Silly, really.

“I’m here!”

“I’m here too!”

“Pick me!”

“No, me!”

Spring also means beautiful clouds, daffodils, blossoming trees . . .

Possibility.

The frogs persistently sing of possibility.

 

Worthy music, indeed!

 

A crocus from earlier this month.

Notice all the muddy ground.

“Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me”

Michèle GriskeyLeave a comment

Wait!

The lilacs are blooming!

It seems to early, but we had a mild winter.

IMG_4951I want time to stop. With the cherry tree blossoms just about to drop and the lilacs just opening, this phase of spring sings perfection.

In an American literature course a million years ago we read poetry. When we analyzed Whitman’s “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d,” we discussed the theme of grief and considered the pastoral elements in the poem.

What about the lilacs?

“Have you ever smelled lilacs?” Dr. Chianese, our professor, asked us.

Most of us had not. We were Los Angeles types moved by scent of jasmine and orange blossoms. We had no source of reference.

I now understand Dr. Chianese’s question, for the scent of a lilac is truly exquisite, ephemeral, and unique. The short space of time when Whitman contemplated the death of President Lincoln, and I rejoice in the rebirth of the garden.

 

IMG_4952

 

Spring Poem

Michèle GriskeyLeave a comment

I don’t remember a time when the daffodils have bloomed this early, yet they are are blooming now on Orcas.

In honor of my favorite season, here’s a poem I wrote a couple of years ago.

 

Daffodils

 

Destiny

is when the muddy yard turns from the snap of winter

Green fingers push through, reaching with fat thumbs

of promised golden blossom.

 

How does the green know?

Like actors waiting in the wing for the cue

of sunlight cast on mud

the volume of birdsong crescendo

the fingers open

cups to hold

the first sleepy bees of the year.

 

REMINDERS about WEEKLY POEMS: If you decide to use my poem somewhere, please let me know, credit the author, and link it back to my website. Thank you!

Spring and Sanity

Michèle GriskeyLeave a comment

Yes, once again, I’ll announce the news:

SPRING IS MY FAVORITE TIME OF YEAR!

Who can resist all the blooming flowers, singing birds, croaking frogs, warming days . . .

Possibility.

I’ve been busy with revisions, for I have decided ONCE AGAIN my manuscript needs quite a bit of work.

I’m also working on something big, but I cannot discuss it now. Let’s just say it has something to do with sanity and writing (yes, the two do go together).

I’ll leave you with an image of spring.

A Crocus
A Crocus

Swan, Swan . . .

Michèle GriskeyLeave a comment

Since the sun has been out, and I see signs of daffodils pushing up through the soil, I will go ahead and call it spring. I’m good at creating my own reality.

On a walk on Friday, my husband and I saw trumpeter swans on Cascade Lake.

Hi There!

Such a beautiful morning . . .

As the sun hit the rocks and the sides of trees, steam rose up and slowly evaporated.

  I feel very fortunate to live on such a beautiful island.

This week marks my tenth anniversary of island life.

Sometimes this little rock feels crazy and claustrophobic.

But most of the time this little world feels as vast as the universe.

Possibility

and

Community.

 

I wish you a beautiful early spring.