Before the Poems...

Already then, I knew

That there was something more

To life than what we see on skin

Of moments as they pour

How else could walnut-leaf

Etched bold on cobalt sky

Kissed gold in late-day sultry sun

Hurt me so perfectly?

And how could babbling brook

Evoke, without a word

Irrevocable bliss-song

Within its silver splurge

Or how could jaunty breeze

Drunk on clover-pink bloom

Invite this little me to dance

In nature’s grand ball-room

…or this; weeping of wind

Drifting lost; aimlessly

Through winter’s stricken woodlot

Where a leaf-song used to be

…soft purple-misted dawn

Heady with dazzling dreams

Of summer-splashing recklessly

Through merry moment-streams

Already then I knew

When I was but a child

Something unwritten beckoned

In the air, driving me wild

© Janet Martin

When I was a child, on Saturday mornings before we were old enough to help, we were 'shooed' from the kitchen so Mother could give it it's weekly floor-scrub and wax. Those mornings sometimes seemed to last eternally, esp. in the cold winter when I didn't feel like waiting in the barn. But then I would 'traipse' all over the place. Some of those memories are etched in my mind. This morning suddenly I recalled standing in a woodlot, wondering what made it so different in the winter...ah, yes! the silence. This woodlot is mostly cleared away now, but it was there I fell in love; with violets, lilacs, apple-blossoms, forget-me-not and sun-dappled green. At our creek I discovered the thrill of brook-song; I can hear it still. Thank-you Mom:) and God.