Call Me Caprice

“This time of the year in the mountains is always one of dialogue, between the winter doing its best to hold on and the spring who is longing to emerge. In one moment it can seem like winter is taking the lead, only a few hours later for the spring to burst forth. Just like it is in the soul at times, there are wild swings between the various poles.”

Matt Licata, A Loving Healing Space, March 27, 2022

Caprice: a sudden usually unpredictable condition, change, or series of changes.

That would describe the weather in March here on the prairies, where on the first day of spring last week, we had a blizzard blowing during the day, dropping several new inches of snow. By mid week, temperatures blasted through the forecast to reach a balmy 17 C. Annie was panting, and my black winter insulated Blundstones were ready to be traded in for cooler trail runners. Then a day later, the temperatures dropped, and by Friday night, another snow fall. We have learned this is spring, that she takes her time given winter’s reluctance to leave too soon. Though already there are indisputable signs of her arrival: geese flying paired and in their signature triangle formations; robins warming up their warbling mating melodies; tender green shoots of longed for daffodils, hyacinth and tulips peeking though.

“Caprice” would, too, describe my outlook of late. A narrow field of vision, with my eye and energy focused on several necessary and pressing deadlines helps me navigate the world’s wider angle of continued uncertainties and devastation. Capturing the macro moment, up close and defined against the present but softly blurred background becomes a metaphor of hope, to cope.

I wrote this poem a few years back, posted it in 2020 and offer it now revised and refined. Its message remains constant.

Call Me Caprice

March blew in strong. The proverbial lion, rattling leafless branches.
Made tall spruce and pine dip and dive in a pre-dawn dance.
Egged on clouds to race across still dark sky,
streaking it silver in morning’s moonglow.
On her wind, the first, fresh fragrance of Spring.

“I’m coming but be patient,” Spring scolded. “You know Winter
likes to take her time leaving. A bit slow and sluggish, she
likes to dig in her heels when she feels my push
to get going and growing.”


Come noon, sun reigned higher in the southern sky,
nudged warmth into wind’s still icy chill. Their partnership
melted Winter’s tiresome leftovers of grungy snow and gritty ice;
pooled puddles into ponds on streets and alleys;
exposed sodden soil and mangled mush in garden beds and farmers’ fields.

“I’m coming,” Spring murmurs her assurance. “But remember,
I’m temperamental. I like to take my time arriving. Ensure that I’m welcome.
So, I suggest you call me Caprice.”

Much love and kindest regards, dear friends.

Author: Katharine Weinmann

attending to the inner life to live and lead with kindness, clarity and wisdom; writing to claim the beauty in her wabi sabi life

One thought on “Call Me Caprice”

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