Saturday, February 7, 2015

waiting (already) for Spring

It's still the first week of February and already I'm waiting for Spring! Reminded me of a poem I wrote in February nine years ago....


I love eating breakfast
in local restaurants
in tiny North Carolina towns
with odd names that have 'boro'
at their ends;
because I know the sausage gravy
is real and the biscuits made from scratch
and the grits won't be runny
except with butter--real butter.
And I love you more than that.

I love reading three books at a time:
a mystery, a fantasy, a straight novel,
all on my bedside table,
sometimes in my book bag,
letting each capture me,
mixing up the characters and plots,
racing with each of them to the end.
And I love you more than that.

I love a beach and the stuff
washed up on it--odd and wierd--
and a dog--snuffling and running along--
beside me, behind me, ahead of me,
and the smell of the ocean
and the heat of the sun,
burning my bare shoulders and face.
And I love you more than that.

I love the taste of Pinot Noir--
the husk of nuts,
the almost too ripe grapes,
the way it slows me down
and slurs my speech
and opens my heart to truth.
And I love you more than that.

I love sleeping alone in hotels
that have too many pillows on the bed
and HBO on the TV,
so I can pile the comforter 
from the other double bed
onto mine and snuggle down in the pillows
and go to sleep with the TV on
knowing I'll wake up in time
for the conference I'm attending.
And I love you more than that.

I love the smell of vanilla (love that a lot!)
and the first taste of every morning's coffee
and the feel of cashmere sweaters
(my own or some lovely woman's)
and the look of the night sky in deep winter
and the first few notes of anything
Mozart wrote (God bless him!)....
I love my senses.
And I love you more than that.

And I love when the pitchers and catchers
report for spring training,
just imagining it--the leather of the gloves,
the shining white of the baseball,
the weight room designed to overcome
the indiscretions of the off-season,
the green of the grass,
the blue of the sky,
the soothing symmetry of the game
and the promise of Spring around the corner.
I love you profoundly, eternally, always and forever;
...and I'm not sure I love you more than that.

jgb 2/11/06

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About Me

some ponderings by an aging white man who is an Episcopal priest in Connecticut. Now retired but still working and still wondering what it all means...all of it.