The Poem

Her arrival is proclaimed on the wind!

And each time I rush to the door

To see her beauty appear

And her accompanying champions roar.

I have thrown off all promises to others

And dedicate myself to her joy,

I shower the homestead in her colors

and her songs my tongue jumps to employ.

Her herald is up on the mountains!

Her steps glisten across the plain,

And my heart swells at the sight of her,

My love, my life does she rein.

But she wearies herself at my hearth,

Like shadows she moves through the home,

And I find myself hoping she’d leave here

Release me and off should she roam.

Take everything with her and quit me,

Take it all and quickly depart!

How much longer will I last in her presence?

How weary and wounded my heart.

She lingers and hatred builds in me

She must go! She must leave here at once!

But she denies me my freedom for longer,

Bent to her own final performance.

Finally she bows and deserts me,

Back onto her weary world travel

And I am left alone in the doorway,

Begging myself not to unravel.

Yet I hear on the breeze a glad tiding!

Her sister is nearby and coming!

My heart warms at the thought of her presence,

And the very earth begins humming.

The Word

Solastalgia (noun): a form of emotional or existential distress caused by negatively perceived environmental change

I believe this is the youngest word seen on Quilled Sister thus far. Wikipedia tells us that it was first coined in 2003. Its maker, Glenn Albrect, says it is “the homesickness you have when you are still at home” often brought on by a change in the climate (How many of you just thought “oh, yeaaaah I know that feeling”? Same.).

If you have been with me for a while, you know that these occasional hibernations of mine happen. I disappear for quite some time without a warning or even backwards wave. And they most often happen during winter. I’m just not a winter gal, I don’t LIKE being cold. And I am sorry I’m like this. It’s just, when I’m hunkering down under a blanket with a scalding cup of tea, the last thing I want to do is risk my fingers turning blue running them across a keyboard.* BUT my notes app is flooded with words and mini-thoughts that could not be suppressed by the freezing temperatures. Now that the East Coast’s first false-spring has brought me a little out of my dark cave, I return to you with renewed vigor. Like the daffodils, I appreciate your patience while I huddled under the earth and am now determined to blossom once more for your reading pleasure!

Happy New (warm time of) Year! And Happy Reading!

P.S. If this poem reminded you of a haughty version of that Trace Adkin’s “hate to see her go, but love to watch her leave!” song, then I’m pleased.

*This does make my day job difficult. Emerging from a fort of blankets and hot water bottles to take a zoom call is hellish.