My schedule is becoming a routine. I’ve been working on editing a book the past few days and am drained from that concentration. Thursday through Saturday, I’ll be very busy again and on the road, and it looks like every weekend will be that way until New Year’s.

Today I’ll be at the college. In my ENG 206 class, I’m going to teach the famous Raymond Carver short story “Cathedral.” In my 102 class at Delta, we are going to continue our study of drama with Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, as well as Oedipus Rex and Trifles. Today is really cold. Of course it made me think of winter. I walked outside and saw that some of my Camellias were in bloom, a sure sign of winter, or at least winter coming. Here’s a poem that resulted from some thought about winter flowers.

Winter Flowers

When I purchased my house,
A few Camellias were in my yard,
Were wrapped in vines,
Weeds, and dead branches,
Like mummies waiting for burial.
I cleaned the detritus,
Pruned, and watered them.
Now, they bloom in
Red, white, and pink,
Flowers of my winters.
A gift to America from Asia,
Brought to the West by a Jesuit priest
In the seventeenth century.
I look at those delicate flowers,
Exotic, beautiful in form and foliage,
And I think of you,
How you were,
How you are now,
Blooming in my life’s winter.