Beth Camp Historical Fiction

Thursday, February 11, 2021

Winter morning . . .

So cold this morning
no one wants to go outside.
The very air draws life 
out of my Dusty Miller plant, 
hunkered down for winter on the patio,
its white leaves shriveled up,
tucked in upon itself, 
no hope for spring. 
And yet, on yesterday's walk,
up to the pond and back,
I saw a red-winged blackbird,
its shrill call a reminder: this too
shall pass, the sun will return,
as will all those lost words,
somehow like orphan quilt blocks
finding their place, a balance
stretched between intention and design,
moving me at once to just a sheen of tears,
I shake my head and begin to write;
it's too cold to cry.

Image by nickfish03 on Pixabay

A little hard to be optimistic when the thermometer reads 18F this morning, with more snow coming later this week. Shiver. No wonder we like to go traveling in February. Not this year! Instead, I'm watering a basil plant, hoping to keep it alive long enough to go into a salad a little later (yes, with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and those little mozzarella balls). That is, after the writing is done. 

And a special thank you to Tyrean Martinson for hosting me on her blog for her first Author Highlight  in 2021: Check it out for an INTERVIEW and a sneak peek inside The Seventh Tapestry. Thank you again, Tyrean! What a great way to start the day.


  1. It's super cold here too. I've been missing my Sunday walks with two friends that I've been doing for years. At least we're almost to the middle of February and some warmer days will be on the way.

  2. Lovely poem Beth. The woodpecker is back on my lime tree, after two years with no sighting. Snowdrops, crocuses, wild violets and winter roses announce spring.

  3. I love it Beth, You are ALWAYS so down to earth and honest. Then you zing us with reality. I LOVE your last line..."its too cold to cry." Lesson? Might as well get to work. I love it. That said, I am looking forward to spring and new hope of social interaction.