Winter, Central Valley
We tend to scoff a bit at winter.
In this valley there is no snow,
sometimes not enough rain,
we do not have the seasonal problems
others endure.
Brightness is the norm through shortened days,
sweaters rather than overcoats,
warm hats with ear flaps uncomfortable,
mittens unnecessary,
but winter even here has its distinct look--
dark abstract forms of trees without leaves,
larger expanse of sky thus revealed,
different, a chilly hue.
Mountains gleam white snow,
close enough to visit
should we wish.
Sounds are crisper, more distinct
than when hot summer dust muffles all.
Birds’ clear notes,
train whistles,
carry further,
dreams follow.
Valley winter.
Bio: Cleo Griffith
I was born into a family in Chelan, WA, on the lake in an apple orchard of two parents each there from the Mid-west, Minnesota and Kansas, and in my 7th, year transported to Portland OR to be brought up my divorced mother. At the end of two years of junior college, I moved to Bend, OR. to seek a writing career. It didn't take; I moved to California and continued to dabble at writing throughout my life. Now, reaching toward age 90 in October, I continue. I love the Pacific northwest and all places I have lived. I was married to my late husband for 59 years, raised three children. Now I live among almond orchards and ground crop farms in a small town in California's Central Valley. There are hundreds of artists around and it is home.
One of the most life-changing things was the massive brain-damage suffered by my youngest child, John, when he was 22 months old. This, of course, changed all the family dynamics for the rest of our lives. The physical changes to our lifestyle and the emotional traumas on everyone had long-reaching effects. For me it was helpful to be able to write and share during this time up to his death from Covid three years ago and even now. We met many wonderful people because of this through John's lifetime, and treasure especially the closeness of our remaining two children.