This was the longest winter for me since 1977. I like winter, and in 1977, 16-year-old me wandered in the snow and ice for what seemed forever. 2026 was another marathon. The welcoming of spring will be like meeting a long-lost friend.
I have been blessed by a writer’s group. We meet monthly at the Sea Girt Library (join us!). In addition to help with my regular writing, the group has pushed me to explore new avenues. I’m no Longfellow; my inspiration is more Seussian. I like Seuss.
I follow the movements of the moon.
I thought I would share two poems. One was written in the depths of winter, when my patience was strong, and one, newly penned, which celebrates the rebirth. Both are through a conversation with the moon, who is a personal friend.
I have finished my latest book Sea Girt Soul, and I’m grateful for the long winter, which has allowed me to see it to completion.
Just another winter day in 2026
PATIENCE
The ice and snow are underfoot,
Where silent bulbs and roots wait,
A frozen world in winter's clutch,
To feel the full moon's silver touch.
Are you the moon who wakes the trees?
Whose gentle light begins the thaw,
To stir the sap within the bark,
And bend the frost to nature's law?
I could use some flowers, please,
To break the white with green and gold,
To pull the petals from the dark,
And warm the earth that’s grown so cold.
You are the moon who whispers deep,
Who holds the branches fast asleep,
But when your brother moon comes next,
The golden sun will finally wrest,
Spring to rise from winter’s chest.
So watch your breath in morning chill,
And bid your restless heart be still,
For beneath the drift and bitter bite,
The seeds are reaching for the light,
The longest night is nearly through,
The trees can wait, and so can you.
The first arrivals
REBIRTH
The silver frost has turned to dew,
Where crocus cups are pushing through,
The trees bud out in fog and mist,
The blooms are tighter than a fist
Are you the moon who calls the rain?
Who stirs the fish,
To feed the crane?
Nail guns pop, the trucks arrive,
To paint away the winter’s stain.
You are the moon who hums a tune,
Anticipates the beach in June,
The sand is waiting, so are we,
For days to lounge along the sea.
The moon calls sleeping buds by name,
The sun opens them to a refrain,
The world has reached its promised light,
The longer days,
The shorter night.
The wait is done, the dream is true,
The trees have woken—so can you.
Forsythia and Daffodil
Each full moon is a bit different
Buds abound near Wreck Pond
Hang on, they are coming