March Crones 2020 by Lynne M. MacLean

MARCH CRONES 2020

Last year, 2019,

on the eve of the Vernal Equinox,

during the calling in of Spring,

we stopped a late-season blizzard,

halted it,

tamed and softened it,

then diverted it

south and east.

                                                                                    Intention guides ink,

Our still nimble

age-spotted hands

shaped calligraphic haikus,

animating

new and ancient words,

on small paper slips

in archaic script.

                                                                                    Ink manifests intention,

On your snow-strewn back deck,

we performed the rite,

beneath the thick bare vines

roping your deck’s arbour,

performed it while dreaming

of summer’s ivy,

dense with dappling leaves,

protection from a merciless sun.

                                                                                    Flame sets it loose,

We shivered

in March’s icy breeze

and struggling light,

and opened the winter-grunged barbecue

for the first time since November.

                                                                                    On messenger winds.

We placed a metal pie plate upon the grill,

read aloud, then lit the paper slips one-by-one,

watching

smoke tendrils rise and soften

the wind’s breath,

felt the faint pulse of the awakening earth,

and youth and joy sparked

in our blood.

No blizzard that night, despite the forecasts.

                                                                                    It’s out of our hands.

This year, 2020,

on the eve of the Vernal Equinox,

defeated by a force

more potent than blizzards,

I stared at the deep leaden snow

on my own burdened deck,

watching

but not seeing,

Alone.

Heart too heavy to call in the Spring.