Happy second Friday of the 2021 Slice of Life Challenge at Two Writing Teachers AND Poetry Friday, all! The planets are once again in alignment for these two fabulous events! Today I’m slicing up a bit of poetry. Heidi Mordhorst is hosting this week’s gathering on her blog, My Juicy Little Universe. Won’t you join us there as well? (And it’s Heidi’s birthday, so it’s an extra special edition!) Slicing poetry on Fridays during the SOLC is a great way to flex those writing muscles. If you are ever wondering where to find the weekly host of Poetry Friday, you’ll find a list of hosts and their blog links here.
I have been fiddling with a March-ish poem for a bit in my notebook. March, in New England, is a season unto itself. Technically it’s still winter, but spring teases us daily with signs that she’s ready to take over.
During a walk after school with my husband yesterday, four true signs of spring presented themselves to me (on a silver platter) and helped push me and my first acrostic over the finish line. As my poetry pal Margaret Simon often says, “This photo wants to be a poem!” Indeed, these do.
Thanks for wondering and wandering a bit with me today. And many thanks to the crew at Two Writing Teachers, and the extended SOL community, for giving us the time, space, and encouragement to live the writerly life here every Tuesday throughout the year and daily during the month of March. And thanks to Heidi Mordhorst for hosting this poetic side of this week’s double celebration! Happy Friday, all! Don’t forget to spring ahead tomorrow evening!
Love this mud season poem. Here in Minnesota we are in mud season as well. Although this year is a bit dry to not as many puddles and mud. The photos are fun addition to your poem. Thanks
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love seeing other people’s environments. Living just two blocks from Los Angeles proper, the view on our walks is very different. I also appreciate your beautiful word choice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! Indeed our environments couldn’t be more different, yet I appreciate them both.
LikeLike
“Mud season:” I love it! Is that snow in the picture of the tree being tapped?! I’m happy to say we’re past that here in the south (I think). I, of course, have to smile at the word you choose for the acrostic! The elements of your poem that deal with the amphibian migration are bittersweet; that’s such a difficult thing. If I was king for a day, there would be tunnels under the roads that needed them. Thanks for a wonderful slice/poem. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
It is the last of the snow. It melted quickly this week with several days in the 55-70 range. With increased traffic this spring I worry, too. Last year was a gift for them.
LikeLike
This is a lovely acrostic poem. I adore the concept of the fifth season, it is worthy as a consistent time marker. I especially like the last two lines.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh, I do love an effective acrostic.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Margaret. It was my first go at one. Will keep at it.
LikeLike
We have mud season here in MN, that’s for sure. Wonderful acrostic, Christie!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Laura. Every time I see a donut, I think of you. LOL! 🙂
LikeLike
Nice!–the poem and the experience. I like how mud season “sets in motion delicate species’ race against time.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Heidi!
LikeLike
Ah, mud season 🙂 I love your choice of words for your acrostic and the photos are great! Spring really is making itself known, even up here, though it’s initial ventures are tentative. By the way, didn’t we have snow in May last year?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Maybe. Can’t remember.
LikeLike
Oh yes, we are in mud season here, too. But at least the spring peepers greet me on my walk–the first sign of spring I look for each year.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love those peepers. They haven’t started yet, but I’m listening for them!
LikeLike
Mud season! Love it. And an extra season is in line with many cultures who do not restrict to 4. The Aboriginal people of my part of the world, the Noongyar people, recognise six seasons. And when I hear them explained they make so much sense. Not bound by a calendar, but by the changes in the land, the skies and the natural world.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Completely logical. I’ll look into that, Sally. Sounds fascinating!
LikeLike