Canadian Author & Memoir Writing Coach
On this cold winter day
My dreams are of May
The garden alive with its flowers
The sun on my face
The joy of this place
Asserting its magical powers
It’s not that I hate you, dear Winter
It’s not that you don’t serve us well
You encourage warm hugs
You kill off bad bugs
I really do think you are swell
But on this winter day
I wish you would stray
To some place that’s missing you so
And bring them your gifts
Of cold and snow drifts
While my flowers bloom all in a row.
Photos by Hamlin Grange
I once dropped into
A nondescript café
If you can call it that –
Windows facing a grey wasteland
Of ugly buildings
One table over, a man sighed
And complained about the starkness
Of the place in mid-winter
The mounds of dirty snow
And the leaden skies
And I replied –
Without missing a beat
As if I’d known him all my life –
“Let us play a game:
Looking through this window
We will make the sun shine
And change the dirty snow
Into a white sand beach
Look, there it is
Do you see it?
Those ugly buildings are
The blue waters of the Caribbean
There! You see the white sails of boats?
And to the left, on the beach
A little girl with a ball?”
And the stranger picked up the story
Without missing a beat
And saw small boats and white sails
Seashells and coconuts
Children in bright swimsuits
And felt the warm sunshine
On his arms and face
And off he went to join them
His toes pressing into sand
Frolicking on the beach
And forgot that he was
In a not-quite dignified café
Facing a cold and barren wasteland
One table over
From a stranger.
With thanks to my publisher, Don Bastian, for his patience and kindness at a tough time in my life.