Thursday, February 11, 2016

February’s Child

© Ginny Brannan 2016

The gelid crystals slip slowly down
to coat the tattered shrouds
of yesterday’s snowfall,
too fast now soiled on frozen ground

The crisp night air calls my name—
I inhale like an addict needing a fix
and exhale the staleness and weight of this day.

December is darkness;
January still holds sway to a darker day
her light always just below the horizon,
but February, February brings shift and promise…

I am February’s child—
no stranger to adversity
ever gleaning strength in
the luster of her lengthening days,
holding on to renewal and hope
that scopes more sharply now,
to bring clarity and truth to
this ever-aging line of sight.

Yes, I am February’s child,
  ever-reaching for the light.

© Ginny Brannan 2016

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

A Turn of Light

I’m really not as old as you perceive,
it’s turn of light that alters your impression.
How strange that we should count our age in years,
from the very moment that we’re birthed;
or maybe clock starts ticking at conception.

Perhaps it is a matter of perception:
how we view our lives from inside out.
While Time, that ticking Master of Deception
plays puppeteer without discrimination,
and in the view of mirror’s sad reflection
an older face stares out in disbelief.

In my mind I’m thirty-five years old—
some twenty-five more added for good measure;
more savvy than that early, carefree youth
and cognizant from years of introspection
that each one ages different, underneath.

There’s no deflecting natural progression—
each wrinkle gained and every single crease;
we overlook each line and imperfection
discerning life with youthful affirmation
until the moment that this heart should cease.

© Ginny Brannan 2016

Google Images: Used on multiple sites and articles.

Gauging Spring