Syllabub Spring

It may have been
That awful year it rained
Poured cats, dogs, buckets
We decided we wanted to flee
Endless flooded charcoal days
Adrift in our floating anxieties
Nothing to say, sighs and silence
The crows, stubborn harbingers
Standing stiff as stacked cordwood
Made us set our resolve, claw at hope
Await Spring’s bright bursting green
To finally bring us back to earth.

It did.

Picking foxtails, gathering stones
And arrowheads at Methley Beach
There, the winded shorelines sifted
Mixed our thoughts into a syllabub
Lemony, honeyed, sparkling sweet
That was the time we learned to live
Beyond fear, defeat, and to hold close
An endearingly strange forgetful feeling
That was all about letting life move on

© 2012 S. Michaels
Breakaway – Spreading Wings