Ice Out

Snow remains on the ground both here in slowly melting parking lot piles, and at the cabin in hollows, ditches, and blanketing the forest floor.  Of course, the lake remains capped with ice. With the right timing, my ears can attest to the protests of trapped water, itching to be free.



Ice Out


Deep throated whoops,
muffled vibratos escape as I scan
the lake's frozen cover
cracked and vulnerable as tempered glass.

A lost beluga whale? Inland?

More likely the sound
of water planning a breakout,
scheming through frigid walls of lockdown.

And I know it's only a matter of shocks
before waves roll free,
and farther north icebergs flee,
shadowing leviathans' timeworn trails.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Minnesota Haiku - April

Last weekend's winter weather should have prompted these lines of haiku, but I was too busy enjoying daffodils and magnolias, blooming in London.

Come late Sunday my plane landed back here in the Cities at the end of a fierce winter storm. A rude reminder of why mid-April is no guarantee of soft spring days.



Minnesota Haiku - April


Foolhardy warblers
traveled off-season too soon,
hunker in hedges.

No geese on the wing,
their favorite resorts late
to open, iced in.

Crows in black trench coats
laugh at spring blizzards, swap storm
stories in tree tops.

Buds on bare branches
hold close their cards, refuse to
gamble with north winds.

The crab apple tree,
Shiva arms askew, gathers
snow garlands, not blooms.

Only the crocus
defies winter-scapes, pops like
a jack-in-the-box.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor



 

The More Things Change

I'm trying to ignore the blizzard at home that I will be flying into later today. By that time, I sincerely hope it will have been downgraded to a mere snowstorm.

Meanwhile, it's been quite pleasant here in London the past few days. On one of my prior trips to England we took a side trip to Bath. An amazing British town.



The More Things Change


In Bath Romans built Minerva a shrine,
placed it by warm springs and healing waters,
relaxed in the pools beneath arched designs,
and next door honored Jupiter's daughter.
They petitioned their deity on bright
silver pieces of thinly wrought metal:
"As for my neighbor, Julian, please smite
him for stealing my two head of cattle."
The conquerors left, their temple perished,
a scattering of entreaties remained.
In time a new god and church to cherish
rose by those baths on the flat English plain.
And a basket in that Abbey today
holds pleas not unlike those of bygone days.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Small Talk

For the next couple of Sundays I will be in London, staying with my daughter and her family. Tomorrow we have tickets to see a Picasso Exhibition at the Tate. Standing among brilliant works of art frequently holds me tongue tied as do social gatherings where I'm lucky to know maybe one other person in the room.



Small Talk


And I rue
my Northern European reserve:

a Study in Black and White pinned
among an exuberance of Matisse

Wyeth's Helga surrounded by Warhol's,
Mao and Marilyn

a Vermeer
silenced by a three-eyed Picasso.

But how to reveal
my Miro
overpainted by forbearance?



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Delayed Departure

Winter has not lost its grip here in the north country. Today is Easter Sunday, and the current temperature sits at 12 degrees with a windchill hovering around zero. This year's Sunrise Services will not be for the faint of heart.



Delayed Departure


The vireos arrive as scheduled
but the frosty tenant refuses to vacate
despite a contract that states
"Checkout time: April."

Borealis holds the management
hostage with bursts of sleet,
arm wrestles the south wind
as the zephyr tries to eject him.

Tired of spring blunting his blows
he exits in a fit of royal pique,
swirling a brazen mantle of snow
like a visitor snubbed.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor