A friend wrote a blog post about his and his mother's long time celebration of Groundhog day and ended it with the following:
Tell a story. Write a poem. Do something you wouldn’t normally do. But above all, have a little fun and think of Mom and me—fans till the end of a silly little holiday of no consequence. And if you should feel inclined, feel free to send me a hand-made card celebrating the best of all of our holidays.And so I shall, and in lieu of a hand made card like the one he shared a picture of in his post, I share this blog entry.
Feburary 2, 2013
The plow sits, quiet and alone,
in the barn, its winter home.
The earth, likewise, lies snowy, cold.
There is no soil for it to fold
nor turn nor break. For this, we wait.
"Will spring come early now, or late?"
The groundhog oracle is sought.
His winter slumber off is fought.
Into the light of... cameras? day?
the wary rodent makes his way.
How can this prognosticating pet
know how long a winter we'll get?
The lights of those who come to see
cast shadows everywhere. He'll be
seeing shadows, if not blind
and a long Maine winter we'll all find.