Positively Karen


Spring Now and Then

Rain, cool nights, semi-warm days. Spring is in bloom everywhere I look.


Sitting on the back step with a glass of iced tea I watch several chestnut brown birds ignore me and continue pulling earth worms from irish green lawn. A robin wings by with twig in her beak. I assume she is nest building. Mourning Dove with her mournful call coo-ah, coo, coo caused no noticeable vibration in the atmosphere. However, the sound of the spring breezes as they pass by cause the cotton candy pink Peonies to quiver.


Through the mists of memories nestled in my mind I see my eight year old self, after persuading Mother to let me go barefoot, unlacing my shoes to run barefoot across the neighbors newly plowed field in late spring. I can almost feel the sun warmed soil beneath my feet even now. Before the plowing and planting my sisters, I and the neighbor boys, who lived far across the road, played baseball and other games there. The farmers planted those fields with onions, cabbages and carrots. At harvest time there were farm trucks, one after another, filled to the top taking the vegetables to market.


But, there was one year the fields lay bare in the fall. In early summer that year came a storm with lightening, thunder and a great hammering as hail hit the roof of our house. After the storm moved away and out onto the eastern plains, I stood with my parents at the dining room windows watching the farmers wade through hail deep across their land. The storm, a destroyer, had cut a large swath annihilating field after field in its wake. It was too late for replanting that year.


The weather seventy years ago, seems like, was unsettled, for the most part, in the late spring and early summer. That was the time of tornadoes and other storms of consequence. However, recent year’s weather is unsettled all twelve months a year. Perhaps reflecting the ambience in today’s world.


I will walk out
My place on earth
Softly, softly
Pausing to consider
How I feel about
All things,
Remembering a far place
I journey on. -K


pic1(Karen Schafer lives in Grand Junction and writes about life in Colorado)


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