The storms of winter descended upon the city.
Many rendered powerless.
Darkness descended on the land.
Yet in the morning, a sparkly, bright, and dangerous wonderland.
As many as could, huddled inside to stay warm and comforted.
Food that would have been wasted was eaten.
And all around lay fallen, broken branches.
Men gathered limbs, cleared roads, restored lines of communication.
Power was returned to the people.
And then another wave of weighty storms descended.
“When will winter end?”
“When will I have power?”
And there in the carnage lay Mr Squirrel, fallen from the heights.
Yet still along the streets lay rows of broken branches.
Warmth and cold ebbed and flowed,
Walks were shoveled and hovels released residents.
The winds changed.
Rumors of other storms and floods and deaths rolled through.
Power was mostly restored,
though some still were disconnected.
But the memory of winter would not quit till spring
For all over town, hanging all around, lay broken branches.
With time, trees are trimmed, twigs picked up, limbs pruned.
Broken branches were sawn in pieces.
Peace was slowly restored.
After Pi Day and Patrick’s Day, and Impossible Shepherd’s Pie:
Joy erupted, sun shines later, heralding Spring:
Clean Streets! Clean homes and hearths and hearts!
Soon enough life will emerge in baby squirrels and budding branches.
So we shall march onward,
until the Common Life we had forgotten,
is remembered as risen in fresh power.
(C) Merton J. Hershberger St. Patrick’s Day 2023
First Shared with my Sherman Street Neighbors.