In my last days before migrating from the mountains, Reluctance visits.
Reluctance recalls five feet of snow on decks and driveway in mid-December.
Reluctance remembers holidays, family ties, baby cries.
Reluctance rekindles delight of a dog made for mountain snow.
Reluctance recounts snowshoe days in a frosted forest and peace-filled lungs.
I could stay. I could stay forever.
Especially when I’m witness to a sunrise such as this:
image & poem © 2023 Patricia J. Franz
listening deeply
my number one resolution:
I wouldn’t interrupt
but you didn’t stop
didn’t take a breath
how could I let
a pink and purple sky go by
aglaze!
I gasped stopped forgot
gazed
before a snow-gray day
took the stage
okay, what did you say?
Now, as I wax hypnotized, my husband wrestles the snow-blower.
It taunts him daily:
the door won’t open soon;
the bear-box is buried again;
the porch steps disappeared.
It is he who will make the calculated dash to town because I want an avocado in my salad. And he misses his bike.
So, we will say goodbye soon, blessed to live in two places, and grateful we are not tethered to a workweek like this (I have lived this poem, too!):
again by Christa Lubatkin
it’s hateful Monday following on the heels of boring Sunday when folks sleep in go to bed early to face a week of days piling up at the gate… READ MORE
published in TheWriteLaunch, Jan.2023
Our host this week is Susan at Chicken Spaghetti. Join us for more January poetry!
Patricia Franz is a kidlit writer and published poet. She believes children, dogs, and sourdough have a lot to teach us about life, joy, and wonder. She has raised two boys, four dogs, and holds a master’s degree in Theology with a focus on children’s spirituality. Patricia, her husband, her Bernese Mountain dog, Bonny, and her sourdough starter split their time between the Arizona desert and the Sierra Nevada mountains. 
Wow – those sky colors! Appreciations for sharing this moment so vividly in image & words.
Also, that stunner: “aglaze” goes into my journal.
It is a challenge every time to find words to do justice to a sunrise, isn’t it?
I can feel your love of life in all these lines, Patricia. Although you will miss the frosted forest and the snow-gray days, you will feel the warmth and beauty of the southwest. Safe travels! And oh – that sky! Beautiful!
Yes, it is always difficult to leave – both places – and always a joy to return.
It’s a snow-gray day in CT right now but I don’t think any actual flakes are in the forecast. What a beautiful spot. Lovely photo & poem.
I’m reminded all the time, it is the snow-gray days that bring us winter-white.
Best wishes, Patricia, for this new journey. Thank you for sharing with us your love for your home.
It’s a beloved journey, nonetheless.
Patricia, I love the reluctance you have about leaving and going to your other home in a very different ecosystem. We just stopped living in two places – the prairie (only three hours away) and the Northwoods Forest (where we are now). Our cabin, sits on a lake in the forest, and our 2 acre lot is wooded. We gave up 3.5 acres of gardens and lawn and a home fruit orchard but the Northwoods is starting to feel like home. It is a privilege to live in two places, but having to take care of only one residence has been very freeing as well. We are both retired, too. We’ve been using this time to decide if we want to build another house back in the town we came from (and just sold) or not. It’s a hill top – remnant ridge prairie – very different from here. We would not sell the cabin so we’d be back with two places. I’m starting to have mixed feelings about it – as you say – reluctance! Thanks for a post I could very much relate to!
Oh, you understand, Carol! Thank you. And I love a “remnant ridge prairie.” I wonder what that looks like?
You are blessed. Maybe you could open up a writing retreat? That way, you can visit more often…and bring friends. What’s a bear box? I need to know? It sounds interesting and strong. Your Christmas tree is gorgeous. What a wonderful summary of your stay–including that pink and purple sky.
I have often thought of bringing poetry and writing friends here for a retreat. It is a perfect space for our muses!
A bear-box is where mountain residents place their trash on pick-up day; suppose to be bear-proof. Sadly, many bears are learning how to open them 🙁
I feel your reluctance, the pull to stay. What beauty and solace!
the yin and the yang
😉
The pictures of the snow have made me jealous! If I’m going to have to endure cold, I might as well have snow. Otherwise I’m a warm weather gal. Love that you got to spend this time in the beautiful landscape!
I stayed here one full year in 2017 and it’s sort of like child-birth… it’s hard when it’s happening, but the further away in time it becomes, you forget the hard and only rejoice in the life!
It is a gift to be free of the Monday to Friday schedule as describes so beautifully in the Lubatkin poem. Such snow you have and cold crisp morning and pink dawns! I like how you show us your response to the pink sky with ” . . .what did you say?”
I’m blessed to know both mountain and desert.
Lucky you to have two places to live and love.
yes, truly a blessing
Patricia, you have provided me with restful, silent moments at your blog. My OLW, “be” has followed me into your gorgeous photos and poem of presence. I especially love the following thought. “Reluctance recounts snowshoe days in a frosted forest and peace-filled lungs.” I breathe in your peace. Have a good week.
And your “be” reminds me that we have to feel “all the feels” – the joy and the reluctance. So glad we are sharing these words, Carol.
That is a spectacular sunrise, and your poem captures it with such amazement. I would gasp in delight, too.
It never grows old!
Not interrupting as a resolution — what a great idea!
Beautiful location. Looks inspiring for writing!
lol- It’s a genetic defect – but I’m trying!
I’d be reluctant to leave too! What a gorgeous sunrise. Thanks for sharing your photos/poems/life with us!
Thank you, Laura, for stopping by.
Hee hee- I love how your poem is like a progress report on your OLW/new intentions, and how easily we let those go for any good (pink and purple) reason. Playful, various post!
Yeah, hope I’m not the only one struggling so soon!
Your poem title is perfect and your post reminds me of my grandmother who felt such deep reluctance to leave her home in the mountains of Pennsylvania (with its gardens, her birds and the visiting deer) for the winter warmth of Florida. Such beautiful worlds you inhabit and I so appreciate your taking the time to share them with us. I also love all the repeated sounds throughout your poem and your use of white space.
Aww, thank you Molly for sharing about your grandmother. I wonder if she ever resolved the conflict? We drove into the desert today… It has its own beauty.
The phrase “a snow gray day/took the stage” felt as lovely as the pinks and purples — a kind of peacefulness. I’m missing snow here in Maryland, where we’ve had a warm winter.