Saturday, January 16, 2016

Balmy, Rainy Weather, Just like Home

Weather in western North Carolina has been unusual this winter. Warm temperatures, seventies, in December and January reminded me of winters in south Georgia where I lived most of my life. Barry played golf all winter and we played tennis winter and summer.

One of my nephews wears shorts all year around down in Albany, my home town. If it is a little cool, he puts on a light jacket. I have done that here this year. Jeans are too hot in the house, so I wear light weight capri pants, pajamas or long shorts. But when I go out I wear long pants. I laugh at many folks who wear winter coats and boots when the day is so warm flowers bloom. I guess they dress according to the calendar and not according to the outdoor temperatures.

A few years ago I wrote a poem I'll share here today. It was published by Scott Owens in his Wild Goose Poetry Review, spring issue 2013. 

Glenda Beall on the tennis court on the farm where the family often gathered on weekends


like none I’ve seen in years. In the park,
sunshine heals like days when I waited anxious
to be free of walls, to tear across the pasture
on my mare, rushing toward fulfilling childhood dreams.

I stroll with Rocky this winter day, warm enough
to over-heat his black fur, his weakened bones.
His unconditional love fills a tiny part of that left empty now.

Women in tennis attire stride toward the courts,
new bags on their shoulders, swinging rackets,
tossing hair, wearing trendy shoes. Love – one.
Love-two, their happy voices sing on brisk air.

Tennis was once our game, long ago,
when a simple quarrel over a match seemed
the end of our world; a gentle world we did not
properly nurture, because we didn’t know
what we didn’t know.
                                       ---Glenda C. Beall

1 comment:

DJan said...

A lovely, thoughtful, pensive poem. I could relate to it, every word. :-)