It has been a minute since I stood at the bar at dVerse Poets Pub. However, the current challenge felt like a direct line to where my head has been lately. The prompt asks us to focus on the simile—that bridge between two unlike things that helps us understand the emotional weight of a moment.
I was looking at old photos from three years ago —a “false spring” that felt completely different from the snow-buried world outside my window today. This got me thinking about how time edits our memories. Also, I reflected on how seasons (both weather and life) demand different versions of us.
I wrote this piece to be read aloud, a spoken-word style capture of that contrast. I wanted to focus on one specific simile regarding the cold water of the creek—how it wakes you up not just physically, but spiritually.
Time is a Strange Editor
Time? Time is a strange editor. It cuts the film, splices the years, rearranging the show. I’m looking at these photos from exactly three years ago, and it feels like a different lifetime, a whole different script, a different rhyme.
There we were—me, my daughter, and the pup, chasing a false spring, looking up. The air was crisp, but the light was golden, a moment stolen.
And I was brave—or maybe foolish—that’s the debate, to dip my bare feet into the creek and tempt fate, just to feel the shock of the earth waking up. That water hit my skin like a sudden electric truth, cold and sharp, the undeniable proof that the world was alive beneath the freeze.
But cut to: Today. The view from my window is a different display. It’s a monochrome study of white and grey. The world is buried, silent and deep, wrapped in the heavy wool of winter sleep.
But looking at these images—that lens flare cutting through the timber like a blade of light, the dog watching the valley, the water so bright—I’m reminded that the thaw is not just a hope, it is inevitable. Furthermore, it is the slope we are climbing.
You see, Winter has its demands: it says hibernate, rest, pick up the pen and write. But Spring? Spring demands we move, feel, step into the light.
So, I’m grateful for the snow today, for the peace it locks in, but make no mistake—I’m keeping this sunlight in my pocket, waiting for the break.
Thanks to the team at dVerse for the prompt! It’s good to be back at the pub.
Thank you for visiting with me. For more Poetry visit my blog at The Ritual. Copyright Mind on Fire Books.
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