2018 Writing Contest
Spring Salute
Linda Hatfield
Reluctantly,
she empties the last sip of latte
from her cup,
licks the foam off of her lips,
and gives her friend a hug.
“Hang in there,” she says, with a
rueful smile,
“At least we’re in it together.”
Scarf tied up and coat zipped tight,
she makes her way along the
slushy sidewalk
past the high school -
her alma mater, matter of fact -
where once she jumped, pom-poms
twirling,
with such energy and confidence;
moving gingerly, now,
so as not to slip,
her own creaking bones
reminding her
she’s a long way past
seventeen and carefree.
Absorbed in her thoughts,
she almost misses it:
a tiny blotch of colour
nearly covered by the ice -
a small, pink mitten -
no doubt dropped by a
passing stroller,
whose grooves stripe the
frozen pavement
on the path ahead.
Her eyes fill and
emotions flood her mind:
how long ago it feels:
the jumbled, crazy days
of overstuffed diaper bags
and toddlers -
stubborn and fussy and fearful;
their tantrums and fevers
and mayhem and mess
weighing her down with
constant worry,
the stress of fitting everything in,
the cooking and cleaning and
driving,
and playdates that provided
distraction
more for the moms than the kids.
Now, with kids
safely launched
the nest is empty,
yet she feels the familiar exhaustion
from days that are crazy and jumbled
all over again,
this time, with overstuffed
appointment calendars:
her aging parents -
stubborn, and fussy and fearful -
filling her time with
cooking and cleaning and driving
and constant worry,
and the stress of fitting
everything in,
and ploys to distract them from
repeating their questions over and
over again.
Tenderly,
she picks the mitten up
looking for a spot to display it,
knowing how the harried young
mother will sigh
and wonder where her daughter
dropped it,
and might just spot it
on her next pass down the street.
She walks towards
a nearby scraggly tree
and hangs the mitten
on a small, upturned branch.
As she waits on the corner
for the light to change,
she looks back,
and manages another rueful smile:
the tiny pink mitten -
a beacon of hope -
waves sweetly to the passers-by
as if to say,
“Ho, Ho… hey, hey…
springtime soon is on its way!”
Stepping off towards the other side,
she reminds herself:
“This, too, shall pass…”
and, anyway,
even Mother Nature
needs a cheerleader
now and then. ●
news&views SUMMER 2019 | 45