A Birthday Poem

We rode the train from Brighton to London yesterday through hills and fields covered in snow. It was beautiful. Breathtaking. And I decided to write a poem as we went, a poem about the different shapes of the day of my birth. Later on, at the party in Balham Bowls Club, I read it to the friends of mine who had gathered for the red balloon bash.

Here it is for you:

On the Day of My Birth

There was a pond kept neat for winter revelers

and we skated in seven degree weather,

four of us teens tucked away in a mountain secret.

Before that, the snow fell on Turre St.

in flakes the size of cotton balls on my birthday

as my friends took their sleeping bags

and backpacks from their parents' cars

and giggled their way into the house.

For the next three years, it snowed on the day of my birth

and we piled into Mom's peach mobile, drove

around the town looking at Christmas lights and singing carols.

Later, on the day of my birth,

my lover got on a place and moved home.

A year after, she came back to collect me

but first snuggled into the white duvet,

our room the third floor of an art deco hotel.

On the day I was born, I've been ill, my partner's been sick,

and I've worked a Sunday shift. My dad's given me an opal

necklace, to keep the fire of his love close to my heart.

My mom sends a book of poetry each year.

When I turned three, I'd celebrated in so many house,

I asked if I was now four. And once, we had a party in June

when I was five and a half and it wasn't the day of my birth at all.

Twenty-six years on, I've seen a quarter century,

made new homes and new friends, and ice skated

more time than I can remember.

A snowflake drifting on the day of my birth.

Oh, the snow....

Hello, again.

I know what you might be thinking, 'Did she write a poem today?'

No, I didn't write a poem, but it did snow in London. Quite a lot for the city, in fact, over the last two days and moments of my day have been quite poetic enough for this, the 1st December.

The holidays really are here--and when I say the holidays, I really mean my birthday, the countdown begun. I can't help but think of my birthday and snow as two peas in a pod. Sure, when I was little I yearned for the pool party, the popsicles, the summers running around in the sun (credit to my parents, I did get an un-birthday party in June once. It was a blast!).

But then, I wouldn't have the snow. Or ice skating. Or memories of hot chocolate and piling into the peach mobile to go look at all the Christmas lights around little ol' Yreka with all my pre-teen friends.

I can't help it, I was giddy today that it was December. Hello, birthday month. Hello, holidays. Hello, snow and hot chocolate and the end-of-the-year reflections. Another season has passed, another year older. And, another white winter in London Town.

A Snowflake Baby

Alex's mum just told me that on the day she was born, April 1, it snowed. The doctor didn't believe her when she told him it was snowing outside, patting her hand, but it snowed. Her little snowflake.

I think it's a sign.

Winter Song

To follow up from the snow yesterday, the radio played a cover of Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michelson's Winter Song. I very much like theirs better, and Alex put it on the first mix she made me for my birthday, when she was moving so far away across the ocean.

The song with background photage of the making of:

If you just want the song without a bit of commentary (but with random photos):

Happy winter...

For Wednesday - Snow

It snowed in London today. I was sat at a long computer desk upstairs in a high-ceiled, big windowed office in Belsize Park--a beautiful, quiet part of North London--when I looked up and saw the snow lightly falling through the small window, over the rooftops. I spun my chair around to face the wall of windows behind me and watched as the snowflakes fell larger and larger and the wind moved them in swirls to the black pavement. The snow did not stick to the ground, but melted. My heart, though, was floating and I breathed deeply as I smiled...

The first time I saw snowflakes that large before--the size of a quarter or a 50p coin--it was my birthday and I was turning 12. My friends from 6th grade were all arriving via their parents' cars, pulled up in the middle of the road, the snow quickly accumulating on the ground, parked under the yellow street lamp to unload overnight stuff, sleeping bags, pillows and presents. From that year on, it snowed on my birthday every year until I left home. And even then, there has been at least a light dusting on the ground when I've woken, if not more.

Sure, my birthday is in December and the likelyhood of it snowing is greater than say, if I was born in August, and yet, that first year of snow, heavy snow, on my birthday was the first time it'd snowed all season. Like magic.

I was so happy to see it snow yesterday that it could have very well been my birthday yesterday anyway.