Today's prompt was a poem by William Carlos Williams, "The Widow's Lament in Springtime." It included a lot of nature imagery along with a sense of inability to be moved by the beauty of it. I can relate to that.
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I started watching for the leaves to change
noticed the days getting shorter
but then forgot the leaves
until they looked all afire
as I drove down the highway
one day all green
and burning yellow the next it seemed
As if they transformed suddenly
but really I just opened my eyes
taking my surviving child
back to college after Thanksgiving
long enough to notice them
and then returned to forgetting
There's a red carpet of
Japanese maple leaves
from the tree by the driveway
Aren't those leaves usually green
in the autumn before they fall?
I check the year-long research booklets
my kids made in Montessori second grade,
studying that tree when each was age seven —
my older child, my survivor, in 2006-2007,
my younger, now gone, 2008-2009 —
and yes, they reported the leaves were red when they were spring-new
and lost coloring through the summer and fall.
Each seasonal photo of kid with tree for proof.
We took note because it was opposite of all the other trees.
I wonder why they're still red this year?
Some ratio of rain and cold
of temperature and time
I study each of the photos in the booklets
seeking the secrets of life.
A late hard frost in 2007. A doubling in height by 2009.
Rader's end-of-year conclusion:
"I am glad the tree is in my front yard, so that even though
I am finished with my observations for this book,
I can still watch it grow."
I can still watch it grow.