Often associated with spring, I took the American Robin’s appearance as a sign that winter was finally coming to an end in anticipation of Groundhog Day. Let’s hope old reliable, Staten Island Chuck, agrees.
Strangely unafraid, the cheerful bird kept pecking the ice around my feet, which brought to mind Winter, a poem I recently discovered by the English poet and writer Walter de la Mare (1873-1956).
Sometimes, a little nature, accomplishing some chores, and culture (in this case, poetry) are the port in the storm one needs to cheer yourself up. Happy Groundhog Day!
Winter by Walter de la Mare
Clouded with snow
The cold winds blow,
And shrill on leafless bough
The robin with its burning breast
Alone sings now.
The rayless sun,
Day's journey done,
Sheds its last ebbing light
On fields in leagues of beauty spread
Unearthly white.
Thick draws the dark,
And spark by spark,
The frost-fires kindle, and soon
Over that sea of frozen foam
Floats the white moon.
