Pam Webb

a writer's journey as a reader

Archive for the tag “seasonal change”

Wring a Ding Ding: Is it Spring?

Though the official calendar date signifying spring has arrived, winter is still lingering about. It’s behaving like that kid in the backseat of the car in front of you who is blowing raspberries. It’s irritating, but you can’t do much about it. That’s what those sneaky little morning snow flurries are to me: winter raspberries.

Winter 2023 in March

After a long, such a long winter, by March 20th, I am truly ready for spring. Instead a snow flurry greeted the morning. The only Flurry I’m interested in is from Dairy Queen, and last time I had one it gave me a freeze brain headache. Just like this lingering winter is doing.

Mitch Teemley is suggesting we called this odd hiccup in seasons Sprinter as winter and spring see saw back and forth. My suggestion is Wring as in it wrings my heart that winter won’t pack up and leave. Winter this year reminds me of that irritating guest that doesn’t take a hint and head out while some good thoughts still might be mustered up about them.

Even though the snow dust melts by mid morning and it becomes warm enough to sit outside draped in coat, hat, and possibly gloves to read a book, the bruising of a long winter remains.

I thought Spring’s friendly, healing sunshine along with robin reappearance and daffodil budding was curative enough.

Then Sunday.

The Hubs, knowing my winter sensitivity, gently warned me, “Don’t be alarmed, but it’s snowing outside.” First reaction is to growl at the messenger, but I restrained myself. He no doubt thought he was doing me a favor by preparing me. Second reaction was to dredge up my old Lamaze breathing techniques to calm myself whilst closing my eyes intoning; “This will pass. This will pass. This will pass.”

Unfortunately, the snow hadn’t melted by 9 am and as we made our way to church and as I gazed upon the snow sprinkled landscape as we drove , that clenching melancholy of “Ack! Winter’s back” briefly returned.

I got over it.

The had melted by the time service was over. Divine intervention.

As March succumbs to April, I have to remind myself of the old adage that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.

Time to March out of here, Winter!

I’m a bit weary of winter’s raspberry blowing. But you know what? Instead of putting up with the annoyance—like having to tolerate the kid in the backseat window—I can change lanes. Why not? Instead of being a snowbird (too many complications), the idea of leaving when winter is rescinding and coming back when the daffodils are perky is actually quite appealing. Trots off to look up travel destinations for next March.

Anyone else travel whilst March roars and return when April is ready to cavort?

Bard Bits: Seasonal Sonnet

I tend to inundate my students with Shakespeare’s sonnets as part of our poetry unit. For one, sonnets often show up on the AP exam. For another, Shakespeare knows how to rock the sonnet. He saw what Petrarch has done with the Italian sonnet, smoothed and improved it to the point where he owns it. When someone says “sonnet” Shakespeare is what comes to mind. He tended towards taking what someone else had created and reshaped it so that it was his claim. It wasn’t plagiarism then, only genius.

This month’s Bard Bits recognizes how Shakespeare mastered the metaphor. Many of his sonnets dealt with aging out and Sonnet 73 captures the autumnal drift into winter with thoughtful reflection.

Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold


That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum’d with that which it was nourish’d by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

Captured this photo yesterday. Mehap’s I render this to be a new season:
Finter—when the trees have not shed their leaves before the first snow falls

Word Nerd Confessions: November

Fall has officially set up its presence. The aspen, birch, and maple trees disrobed within a week’s span with the help of couple of brisk windstorms. Temperatures hover around freezing, and the sun offers minimal light with little warmth and disappears shortly around 4 pm. The preparation for winter is underway. The Hubs threatens to put on the snow tires since black ice is fact of life not to be ignored. I understand his concern, but snow tires seems to invite or acknowledge snow. We already had a flurry of snow that had the grace to be embarrassed enough by its early arrival and leave by the next afternoon.

This month’s words reflect my ambivalence towards fall: do I mourn the passing of summer or prepare for winter with my usual reluctance? Or do I just accept it knowing spring is not that far away?

So–how do you feel about fall?

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