John and I did find time recently to sneak away and soak in a couple of hot springs: one old favorite and one new one. So take a peek at our photograph in "Where in the world are John and Nancy #4?" on our home page and see if you can be the first to figure out where we are for a free night for two at the motel. We enjoy sharing one of our favorite pastimes with all of you!
Now the daffodils are beginning to bloom in the flowerbeds and the snow has disappeared from town. The first robin showed up on February 10th this year! I think I'll be able to hang the sheets on the line again this weekend, and to hike in my beloved mountains soon.
So here's a poem you might enjoy about winter's last snowfall:
The Last Winter Storm
Birds like pepper sprinkled on a winter sky, dive
and twist
as
grey-brown branches stir,
tearing the grey-white depths into jagged layers.
The clouds regroup, piling one atop another,
shoving and squeezing
billowing into shades of
angry grey.
Dark and ominous in their hurry to stuff the
narrow valley
and overfill every
meandering canyon,
the blackening clouds expand,
drawing
strength from strength,
inhaling
with a growing wind,
intensity and power.
Then the silent blast begins,
as
thickly, quickly,
the
mute whiteness surrounds and reshapes
the dirty brown remains of
previous storms.
Long, lovely minutes stretch into a magical hour
until
suddenly
still, the air, crystal clear,
carries
tinkling laughter,
and
the whiteness blinds as shards of twinkling crystal
burst in all directions.
The sky flaunts her new blue robe
with the golden orb about
her neck.
The heavy trees bow to her beauty,
then
toss their limbs high toward her
as they shake off the twinkling
crystal dust
and laugh their tinkling bell
laughter.
Robin Redbreast stands fluffed and perturbed
in a sheltered spot,
indignant at being caught
yet again—
greedy to be the first red robin
spotted
on
the greening grass.
Nancy Nielson
