Poem: Mud Season

Mud 6 BW.jpg

Mud Season

It is a short season,
and deceptive.
Dismissive of calendars,
never so neat and predictable you can write it in.

It is confusing.
Warm after a long winter.
but perhaps too warm, too fast.

The earth can not keep up
with the thaw.
Creeks rage.
Earth turns murky and soft.
Fields dissolve.
The ground beneath your feet
swallows your shoes.

The earth can not keep up.
Snow becomes water.
In the night, water becomes ice.
in the morning, the melt begins again.

It is a short season,
but it swallows you.
It leaves its mark on shoes and floors.
The grass begins to gasp,
half alive by the early spring light,
half-drowning in the softened snow.

This is your life.
Too much. Too soon. Too fast.
A wonderful thing,
drowning in the mud.

About this poem

Here in the Northeast we have five seasons. One of them is mud season, wedged between winter and spring.

Sometimes life, even good life, is like mud season. Too much. Too soon. Too fast.

The picture was taken not far from my home in West Pawlet.

Tom

 

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