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  • December 2013
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Winter as Metaphor

Even though we have had several inches (about 18 inches) of snow this season, winter is just beginning!  According to The Old Farmer’s Almanac, winter  begins at 12:11 PM on December 21st.  Winter, like all of the seasons, has its lovers and haters.  Personally, fall is my favorite season, but winter has to be my second most favorite.  I like cold weather and I love walking in fresh snow, especially at night. 189884_1845951477408_4735855_n Is winter harsh and bleak?  Or beautiful and full of joy?  The answers to those questions can be found in poetry.  Yes, poetry.  The mystery and wonder of winter can be found by reading poetry.  Poets often use one  of the elements of the winter season as a metaphor in their poems.  The bare trees and fields.  The cold winds.  The short days and long nights.  The snow. 563232_10200782434472075_1505638863_n Two of my favorite winter poems come from the Ralph Munn Creative Writing Anthology series.  The first one is from 2008. Crystal Blankets by Valesha Edwards

My eyes glued to a winter wonderland

Crisp, chilling breeze blusters and flows

Light, white flakes whispering off to new regions

I gaze transfixed on an earth blanketed with white crystals

Delicate flakes with unique shapes weave gracefully from a somber sky

Amazing how simple white crystals disclose joy in me

How beautiful, yet simple white crystals enlighten a person,

is one of life’s vast mysteries 65286_10200641321184331_1790025591_n

The second one comes from 2011. Sparsile by Annie Utterback

November the barber

sweeps with the wind,

collecting his trimmings

on the forest floor.

I left my tree house

in its snug red jacket,

but the compass is a circle

and she’s led me here before.

I don’t want to meet you,

Miss Argyle Winter.

My friends have all vanished.

I’ve nowhere to go.

With your blanketed blizzards

and white woolen mittens,

I can’t seem to distinguish

man from snow.

The forest Manhattan,

its trees all the same,

our faces are blank,

our branches are bare.

The city is night,

We’re all constellations.

You need no map to find me.

I cut my own hair.

For more information about the Ralph Munn Creative Writing program click here. Happy Winter Solstice!  Winter is here whether you love it or hate it. ~Marian

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