Quickening

                                                                                           Primroses

Dear Reader,

I wrote the poem 'Quickening' on a very gloomy day in February 2016.   I think I was feeling the need for some light relief from a dank winter, and it is probably what we all need to feel today in  March, 2020.  What with the floods and corona virus to contend with there is not much to laugh at, but I think we must look on the positive side of things.  As I am eighty now and have only got a lung and a half.   I am one of the most vulnerable the media talks about.  So Francis and I are going to self-isolate and see no one until the virus has run its course.

We are going to read some books we have been meaning to read, try to do The Telegraph crossword, not only do the exercises we do already, but invent some new ones, walk when it is not raining and the cold east wind is not blowing, in the fields nearby. We are going to watch our favourite DVDs, perhaps even watch 'Anne with an E' again although I think that might be a step too far for Francis.
We are going to cook some interesting meals from Susan Campbell's cook books from the 60s and bake some fruit tarts.   We are going to listen to beautiful Mozart music and find some jazz to dance to after supper.  So all that should keep us going and we will be fine.  And I will sort out lots of cupboards.

Good luck with finding new things to do, it might even be fun.

                                                                                 *

Quickening

I want the pulse of life that has been asleep

to wake, embrace me, put on the light.

To hear the thrush, song-repeat, to keep

my trust in God to hurry icy winter's flight.

I want to glimpse, under sodden leaves, green shoots

to announce life's circle, its beginnings, have begun.

I want to run barefoot, abandon boots,

to walk through primrose paths, savour the sun.

I want to take off winter's dress, change its season,

to see the coloured petticoats of spring, bloom

and show us mortals nature's reason

to start afresh, admire the peacock's plume.

Cellar the coal, brush the ashes from the fire,

I want to intertwine, my love, quicken, feel desire.  

                                                                                  *

Blessings and Good wishes, Patricia