Why days or weeks with no new post?

What's up with that?

If you're ever wondering, why the periods of silence, keep reading. 

Dry Spell

I don't believe my muse has deserted me 

quite the contrary

I suspect she is busy organizing a closet

stumbling on a  wrinkled, twisted 

brown leather pump

smoothing a red print blouse with a white bib front

adjusting the angle of a long forgotten

black felt cloche

wiggling into a shocking pink bathing suit 

I imagine she's melding 

discarded identities

creating from old styles 

compelling new ones

sifting through what once was 

until she finds 

a kernel of what always is 

I expect she'll be back anytime now

                  ~ Kate Lydon Varley

I wrote this poem after our last snow storm, which I hoped would be our last snow storm this winter. But the forecast for March 20 is that we're in for more snow, so revisiting the experience of snow: 

Meditation: Eight inches, and the plow man didn’t show

so it is up to us

we work in shifts –

work and rest

work and refuel

work

and work again

shovel and lift

shovel and chip

throw the ice

throw the snow

tap to clear the shovel

repeat

repeat

repeat

snow that was heavy and wet last night

dry and light this morning

underneath the sloping white

hard frozen slicks hide from

bright March sunlight

every bit of ice like the piece before

every bit of ice possessed

of its own texture, shape, size

shovel, chip, throw, tap

again and again and again

in the end

down to the driveway’s blacktop

dark with the melt of snow and ice

mists lifting from pavement swirling

disappear into thin, crisp air

leaving behind on the asphalt

a smattering

of dry

                                                Kate Lydon Varley