It is the change of seasons that brings this unease:
\nwith spring comes the \u00a0digging out;
\nwith summer the shedding of clothes;
\nwith autumn the donning of same;
\nwith winter the burial.<\/p>\n
In spring we scrape away old skin
\nfrom bones that barely rattle when shaken;
\nwe scrub walls, wash heavy wools and comb furs;
\nskin tingles, fairly aches with raw freshness
\nit is so
\ninvigorating<\/p>\n
In summer, we are naked to the breezes
\nthat snuggle into our light cottons;
\nwe rub ourselves raw against the sun;
\nand we peel and drown in water
\nit is so
\nexhausting<\/p>\n
In autumn we reap the yellowing growth
\nthat has burdened the fields;
\nwe weary ourselves with preparations
\nfor the invasion to come
\nit is so
\nparanoid<\/p>\n
In winter we huddle inside the warmth
\nthat comforts us in this darkness;
\nwe scan the horizon for the return
\nof the invigorating, exhausting paranoia
\nit is so
\npredictable<\/p>\n
But if you decide
\nto sit here with me
\non this log
\nin the middle
\nof the sky blue river
\nwe might splash
\nsome blue
\nat someone
\nsilly.<\/p>\n
[podcast]http:\/\/riverwriter.ca\/podcast\/sitting_on_a_log.mp3[\/podcast]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
This poem examines the pressures that distract us from living in the moment. Continue reading