Old Man Winter

Old Man Winter please let go.
Release us from your chilling grip.
My body aches for warmer air.

Our forsythia bushes are standing bare
but for one tiny flower.
The lilac bushes have no buds of spring.

The birds are chirping "I'm here, I'm here"
against a backdrop of gray cool looming skies.

I'm lying in bed this morning treating my sore aching shoulders
to the warmth of a heating pad
and listening for a story.
You've worn out your welcome Old Man Winter.

My bright yellow daffodils stand lonely against the gray
like a painting that has no background.
A pair of robins begin the music early each morning
just at dawn.
From high atop the barren brown trees they perch
and begin to twitter.
In a moment the chorus joins them.
The cowbirds and blackbirds chime in with their own twits
while the cedar tree quivers with tiny birds chirping their needs.

A pair of robins think it's spring.
At daybreak they take their passionate tango to the air.
They flutter, chase, and somersault
exemplifying the dance of spring.

Old Man Winter even though you hang on pushing our limits
and testing our patience
the birds remind us that spring is here.

Spring is hidden just below the surface.
One day soon I'll be listening for a story
and hear the tulips blooming and the leaves opening.

Old Man Winter you are keeping my walks short these last few days
but you can't hold off spring.
She's here in my heart, my bones, my soul.
She's just resting, giving you one last hurrah.

Hurry spring and finish the artists palette with backgrounds of green, yellow, pinks, blues, violets and more.
Show your painting to the world.
Let us judge your beauty.
Hurry Spring Time Lady, Hurry.

Dancing with the Stars or Not

Ok, so maybe I can't dance with the stars, but I can dance. I just don't have the dress. Monday night I was wooed by dresses, I know that's suppose to be by the dances, I know the difference, but like I was saying, Monday night I was in awe of the dresses of Chelsie Kane, Karina, and Lacey. I also know how old I am, and no matter what, my mind and imagination take me back to "the Loretta Young Show." All that means, for those of you younger than Kirstie Alley and me, is that since childhood, I've imagined myself walzing down a curved staircase in a long flowing dress and high heels, without falling. Then like Loretta Young I would delicately touch the banister and swirl like a lady touching her skirt and smiling at all of the gentlemen in the audience watching me.

Realistically, I once owned and wore a fitted dress with the skirt cut on the bias, three quarter inch sleeves folded up, a collar that could be turned up at the neck like a blouse, and the dress complimented by a wide black belt. I felt like the queen of the dance when I wore my Loretta Young dress to school. I think even the kids felt the swirl when I twirled into the classroom, smiling. It made me feel like a woman, not unlike a mother, a wife, a lover, a teacher, an athlete, just a woman who loves to dance through life.