The Seasons: A Poem

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Sunrise over Amazing Grasses Family Farm The mad Artist wields His brush, Painted colors rush, To life and give flush, Before the quiet autumn hush. The life seems to pour, As colors fall to the floor, To be seen no more, Outside the dark, grey door. Brightness from below, Sun upon the snow, High, cold clouds blow, Flakes and ice appear to grow. The man melts with little seen, Underneath, pale, grey green, Hides life in dark unseen, Waits for warmth and to careen. Buds on branches show, Patience starts to grow, Trickles, streams and veins flow, Bringing fruits of melted snow. Sprung to life it springs, Bees, birds, sound rings, Lush green flings, Its gift bounty brings. Green growth gives one last rush, Underneath the Painter's brush. The mad Artist wields His brush, before the quiet autumn hush. More poetry is available from James M. Hahn in  The Last Dragon and Other Poems  available now. My new book of cryptogram puzzles " Secret Messages from the Saints " is avai
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Candlemas Day

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Although now overshadowed on the revised liturgical calendar, Feburary 2 bore a weather folklore long before the shadowy groundhog. Farmers found the day a good time to make weather predictions, applying the theory that the rest of the winter would be the opposite of that on Candlemas. There is an old English song about this:

If Candlemas be fair and bright,
Come, Winter, have another flight;
If Candlemas bring clouds and rain,
Go, Winter, and come not again.

This means if the sun casts a shadow on Candlemas, you can expect more winter, but if there is no shadow, the end of winter is close at hand. If that sounds like the old groundhog story, it's because this is where that story comes from, except that the one about the groundhog originated only about a hundred years ago.

Taken from The Catholic Source Book

Comments

Sarah Reinhard said…
I like this far better than the groundhog version. I'll have to remember it for next year. :)
12:31 PM
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