Ice storm

a messy poem-ish thing for our messy not-always-poem-ish world

The ice storm arrives

rain then sleet then snow then rain

nature’s spring bewilderment

the ice

the ice!

coats the long branches, the short branches, the catkins, the remains of last year’s berries

gloves of ice, made to fit each branch, each needle, each cone

trails of ice, cascading like tiny swords

candles of ice, haloes of ice, shrouds of ice

icicles chime as I run my finger along them, clattering against each other, falling into the river, a melody made by the bridge and the ice and the water and me

gray, misting sky

sleet—tiny pellets of snow—hard nubbins of rain—peppering my face

i feel like i ought to feel as gray too because the world is—well, it’s everything—where to even begin—the overwhelm is overwhelming—it’s apocalyptic out there, man

…but

lean in

i am going to tell you a secret

I am happy.

Ducks rustle along the dark river, shadows against the black current

the sumac berries are caught under the ice in perfect burgundy cones

new red growth forks out of old brown branches, all wrapped in the same ice

the dog whirls and spins, tail a plume of delight, joyous in the snow

i lick the tip of a branch where the ice beads

it breaks into my mouth, a cool sliver

it tastes like the sky

How could I be unhappy when the world is so relentlessly alive?