March is Mid

March is mid-season
	Despite calendar or weatherman; 
Not the deepest cold
	Nor the full onslaught of color yet,
But brown, and moody
	A tumultuous whiplash of weather.

March is mid-sun
	An increase in light and longing; 
Not the strength and length as the year’s zenith
	Nor the watery and wan winter’s rays, 
But enough power to course through bare branches,
	And create patches for the dog’s sprawl.

March is mid-melt
	The relentless creep of lion and lamb; 
Not giant piles of white in the driveway
	Nor the soft broken earth of definite spring, 
But alternately hard and frozen ground
	Perfect conditions for potholes and heartache.

March is mid-semester
	That ache of the incomplete; 
Not the smell of new books, the feel or a new pen 
	Nor the sudden burst of energy at the sight of the end, 
But the slog through something important, and good
	And the temptation to give up. 

March is mid-sentence
	A thought and a feeling in process; 
Not the satisfaction of the fully realized
	Nor the crest of a swelling wave
But the mind’s activity, the heart’s focus
	Again life’s loves reordered. 

March is mid-yawn
	The earth waking and us with it; 
Not yet bright eyed and bushy tailed
	Nor dimly attuned to the life within
But a growing awareness gentle and slow, 
	An occasional and vigorous shaking off of slumber
Blinking into the next season.

3 thoughts on “March is Mid

  1. SO good to hear from you. Your poem was especially helpful for me to reconnect with all the springs of my lifetime, til we moved to FL. We are “mid”, too, sometimes Thank you!   Karen

    Sent from the all new AOL app for iOS

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