Christmas cactus by author

The month of March (also the Red Planet) is named after the Roman god of war, Martius or Mars. Our country has honored his name this month in a very visible way. Although there is likely a war always going on somewhere on the planet, this particular ‘war-not a war-a war’- is very visible with the potential for many dire unforeseen consequences. I don’t believe our leader is currently able to process logical systematic ideas. I think unelected advisors are filling his disorganized brain with what to do couched in terms he wants to hear and so he spouts what he is told in his own discombobulated manner. For the moment, this has proven acceptable for the machinery behind the throne. Who knows for how long this arrangement (derangement) will go on? Rashes and bruises aside, there may come a time when it no longer serves their purpose, and they will find a way to move forward with a new face promoting their agenda.

In concert with other powerful violent men, they continue to wreak further havoc on the world. We watch, we protest, we suffer in sympathy and keep working to find our own heartful sanity every day. It is difficult to endure but I am not the one dying from the devastation of daily bombs.

Enough said.

What else is happening in March? My Christmas cactus pictured above decided that the latest thaw that began last month, was the signal to send forth exuberant blossoms. I sat by one pond today and listened to the tree frogs peeping and chirring, so it must be spring, even though they do not read calendars. Down the road I can hear geese squownking loudly in the latest kerfuffle involving impressive water fights with powerful wings. Some paired geese have returned to their own nesting sites from past years and look away from such youthful bravado.

Aconite popped up last month in the first thaw we had, and today the daffodils are swelling with buds even though we know it could possibly snow once again. I am thinking that the old, ‘In like a lion and out like a lamb.‘ is no longer a reliable expectation. The weather is on its own trajectory. I saw mourning doves and heard new songbirds calling last week and I see iris, tulip and other leaves spearing up through the mulch in many beds around the campus. They are hardy as are we. We welcome each warmer day as it comes. I read somewhere online- sorry I can’t attribute it properly- that this is ,‘Wrong coat weather. No matter which coat you choose it will be the wrong one.” She is correct.

The week before last I created a silent retreat for myself. No computer or phone at all. It was nourishing and as I quipped, “It was just like real life only much quieter. All distractions were of my own making.” The following is a poem I wrote about the second to last day. My dear neighbor and friend across the street is Carol, to whom I dedicated the poem.

After the February Thaw

For Carol

Yesterday, whole trees wildly welcomed

an incoming gusty cold front.

Weather gods withdrew

their warm moist breath that melted

compacted snowplow mountains.

Across the road, the white canvas cover

of an outside patio chair

billowed up, puckered in, billowed up, puckered in.

I saw a bird, whose claws were caught in the seat

extending two brown wings flapping and flapping,

trying hard to escape the chair.

I keenly felt its struggle for freedom.

Today, the cold settled down to bite back

your every inhale, condensing around your exhales.

The potent breath of life that gave rise to a bird

made of worn-out cushion stuffing

is gone.

Life is like this sometimes-

we are sure we see things clearly before us-

that then turn out to be

products of our own illusion.

aconite through window by author