February 16th, 2005
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impatience {or ‘be kind to snowmen’}


some days i am a five year old who cannot wait till morning to wear her new shoes.
impatient. many new projects on the horizon, things moving forward. big things. yet i am still waiting.
stasis.
as a child i would always put my new shoes next to my bed so they would be the first thing i saw upon waking (and so I could fall asleep with the smell the new leather or plastic). on occasion i would even sleep with them on, enthusiasm eventually giving way to bulky discomfort, i would force them off with a sleepy kick. two pairs live on in my memory, my brown leather “buster brown’s”, and my blue “road runners”, plastic sole covered with the head of the famous, uncatchable bird. (Buying shoes now as an adult becomes a quest for the perfect shoe that lives up to these early memories. an intensive mix of comfort, style, and design.)
but i digress, (i did not intend to go into a diatribe about footwear today, no I did not, but such is the nature of writing.) where was i? impatience. yes.
it may be the winter too. i am impatient for the green to show itself again. i want to not have to bundle each time i go out for a walk. i want to wear my red running shoes with a skirt and knee socks. i want to sit outside in the sun and smell the earth. I want, i want, i want. i try to tell myself that things come in their own time, not to push the river. i am reminded of a poem by shel silverstein (which i is perfect for my cranky five year old self)…
’twas the first day of the springtime,
and the snowman stood alone
as the winter snows were melting, and the pine trees seemed to groan,
“ah, you poor sad smiling snowman,
you’ll be melting by and by.”
said the snowman, “what a pity,
for i’d like to see July.”
chirped a robin, just arriving,
“seasons come and seasons go,
and the greatest ice must crumble
when it’s flowers’ time to grow.
and as one thing is beginning
so another thing must die,
and there’s never been a snowman
who has ever seen July.”
(excerpted from ‘Snowman’, in Where the Sidewalk Ends)

 
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