Maree’s musings

MIDWINTER MADNESS

Now that June is upon us, we once again are obliged to battle the perils of winter. With the solstice looming in a couple of weeks, the hours of daylight are precious, and here in the deep South, from where I am writing, they are few and far between. Recently from the ‘Google mine of useful information’ I discovered Dunedin loses 20 minutes of sunshine each week until June 21^st,  when the sun will hopefully shine for eight hours and 39 minutes, give or take. One good thing, there’s no need to rise and shine at sparrow’s-fart [from 1820’sYorkshire slang], or as I prefer for NZ, fantail’s-fart, to appreciate the sunrise. By the way, you fortunate folk in Martinborough will enjoy a whole nine hours and twelve minutes, so no excuses from you.  

Some days can be brutally cold; maybe not so much as the long nights, but at least I have been inspired [and had plenty of time] to pen a poem or two, which you might enjoy. The first –  ‘Three Dog Night’ is based on the story of Alaskan sled drivers bringing their dogs into the tent to sleep with them. The measure of cold is the number of dogs required to keep you warm until the morning. Here it is:

Three–Dog Night

Tonight’s a three-dog night –

I’ve read about them somewhere.

It’s an old saying,

saying

it’s cold.

And so it is:

it’s freezing.

Quicksmart

I leap into bed,

pull the covers up,

and curl up,

thanking the glittering stars

for my electric blanket, and

in my thoughts, award a personal prize for its inventor.

Drifting now into sleep

I think of those three dogs

beside their master;

edging close, and closer still.

Huddled together

beneath the black crystal-studded sky,

dreaming of dawn.

And here’s the second – a series of four Haiku; three-line poems of five, seven and five syllables on a single theme. They’re fun to write and don’t take long. I have a painted copper water dish in my garden for the birds to drink from, all fine until one very frosty night!

MIDWINTER MORNING

garden water bowl,

fresh-filled last night; today a

dish of solid ice.

birds coming to drink

or bathe, think, if they could: what’s

with this skating rink?

i’d like to wait, watch

the sparrows slip-slide across

the surface, and land

fluff-arsed backside down.

then, shaking off their shame, fly

off: into the sun.

Enjoy the solstice and the small but inevitable lengthening of the days that follow. Time is too precious to waste, after all.