Most said winter was a brittle beast,
a lonely soul in deep freeze.
She lived alone on a mountaintop,
Coldness covering every rock.
So few noticed her or stopped to care;
For who wants to know despair?
Indeed, only one made that frosty trek,
A want to greet her, to connect.
It was Spring who climbed that weathered peak,
Dressed bright in fresh greenery.
She brought seeds as her fine offerings,
Left by the door for company.
Winter so longed to bring Spring inside,
and unveil her heart fireside.
You see, Winter knew her end was near;
Sounds of birds chirping rang clear.
Nature’s seasons are a strange wild thing
Tied together—a soulful ring.
So, Spring soon sensed Winter’s aching need;
Her solemn message she did heed.
Spring ventured bravely from her terrain,
Scaling a blizzard, in pain.
With her budding soul she still trudged,
Reaching Winter’s door, a tiny nudge.
Winter sat hunched over hardened snow,
Bones crooked and tears aglow.
Finally, the first time they did meet;
Spring bowing at her iced feet.
She stared deep in Winter’s wise old land,
holding tight her wrinkled hand;
Listening to all her stories told
Of a life long-lived in the cold.
Each day Spring did as the one before
To be with her a little more.
As she drew close to Winter’s hearth,
Peace she brought—a kind rebirth.
Tucked beneath the warmest shades of Spring,
Winter smiled, her lines sparkling.
Even as her cool breath grew weary;
Her spirit roused, almost cheery.
Most said Winter was a brittle beast,
a lonely soul in deep freeze.
But Spring did learn that beneath the chill,
Winter snows her magic will.
And so, when the end finally came,
Spring stayed with her all the same.
Sunlit snowflakes laced her bluish cheeks,
As Winter soon fell asleep.
Spring kissed her head, and leaned to her ear,
So her dearest Winter could hear.
Singing softly as her grandmother died,
“I’ll bloom for you, while my heart still cries.”
The seed of my nature poem arrived through the last lines of “Spring’s Winter.” While taking a walk one evening, I imagined a deathbed scene in which Spring, the youngest season, sat vigil beside Winter, the oldest season. In this very human moment, Spring vowed to keep living, growing, even in the heart of raining grief. In fact, she would carry Winter’s soul with her as she did so.
Oftentimes, writing helps me release pent-up emotion. I didn’t anticipate that Winter would be Spring’s grandmother until I finished the poem. It flowed from me. Then, I cried for my late grandmothers. And this is the beauty of creativity. It eases you into realms you must go, even if it’s not always clear you need to make a visit. The truth is grief remains an ongoing process; while love is an everlasting presence.
My poem also speaks to taking the time to “be” with the elderly even if it may occur in places that are difficult to visit, as in nursing homes. Spring is willing to make the journey; but only leaves seeds for a while, not truly being present. Once she moves past the fear, she’s able to connect in a magical way.
Of course, now with the emergence of the Coronavirus, we must find creative means to connect with our elderly relatives and friends, to keep them close. For meaningful time with those we love is one of our deepest gifts.
Wishing all of you continued health, and imaginative ways to still create moments that matter with those you hold dear.
A Favorite Post that Resonates with this Poem
Click the soul story below to read about my deep winter connection to my late friend, George Bounelis.
More Imaginative Seasonal Posts
If you are craving springtime, read Spring Quotes with a Soulful Shimmer.
If you liked this poem, click to read Autumn’s Mother Heart.
If you love winter, read Winter Quotes to Make the Soul Sparkle.
Pin to Pinterest to Keep “Spring’s Winter” Close
Play & Reread to Enter the World of Spring’s Winter
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