Category: Spring 2023

Clouds, darker than those that already veiled the morning sky,
drifted in just before noon, and the world stilled. After a while
a soft rain fell, washing the trees’ swelling buds, and the twigs
and branches and limbs and trunks, and finally the new grass
and the mosses and tiny spring flowers. It stopped about three
and I watched the sun emerge, pale through the clouds,
but giving its light to the sky behind them. Once, long ago,
someone who lived for some time in a woods, where he no doubt
learned the spirits of the trees, looked about him and asked,
“Have you noticed how the light is always perfect?”

The Yes, whose merest spark of thought
creates vast worlds within worlds,
whose living laughter flows endlessly
between and around and within them,
whose joy knows no bounds,
whose forces flow in our blood,
whose light sings in our souls—
that Yes—plays here, right in the midst of
this moment in Spring, and its star children
dance to the song.

When your time in the sunshine is measured in days
you have to make the most of every shred of them.
Hold nothing back. Release all hesitation.
Give it your best. Give it your all.
Beam out your light.
Trumpet your joy.
Do you know? Can I tell you?
How you fill our hearts with gladness with your song!

Just when you think dark winter
will never come to an end,
springtime arrives to bring you
the tenderness of tulips.

It’s not that the first ones are especially daring
or brave. It’s the song of the light
that calls them, the notes so sublime
they can neither be resisted or denied.
“Come: Here is wonder. Here is beauty.
Here is the destiny designed for your joy.
Come: drink the dew. Hear the birdsong.
Feel the rain; drink the fresh morning air.
Show the way. Paint the world
with your colors. Open your petals
to the sun. Join the grand chorus
of the exuberant, burgeoning Yes.”
And so they push past the last
layer of darkness and find the light.
And slowly they unfurl themselves,
amazed, and filled with gladness.
And they pick up the song, and
sing to their sleeping fellows,
“Oh, come! Come and see!
Come and dance with us
In the Yes of the sun!”

A week passed before I visited the eastern slope
of the southern hill again. The buds of the quince
are giving way to tiny green leaves. The baby ferns
are still asleep beneath the soil. But look!
The daffodils are open! Little patches of them
dance all across the hillside, glistening
with droplets from the morning’s rain. Where,
I suddenly wonder, is that one who came first?
And turning toward the mother spruce, I see her,
ruffled petals spread wide, beaming happiness
for all she’s worth. And what she’s worth,
it’s plain to see, is well beyond any measure.
I kneel and smooth a fingertip across her fragile petals
and we both melt in a connection of sheer joy.

I wake to a single whispered word: April.
I breathe, slowly inhaling the morning air.
wanting to savor its every molecule.
I hold it in my mouth for one still moment,
the word pulsing through me: April.
Then I exhale and rise to bright sunlight
and a robin’s egg sky. Golden trees,
lacy now with fat spring buds, sway
on the western hill. I pour coffee.
The neighboring birds arrive, eager
for their breakfast, the little ones chirping
their greetings. Beside the kitchen door
last night’s raindrops sparkle from the leaves
of the baby bleeding hearts, the whole spray
looking like a splendid work of art. I stand
admiring it , wrapped in a cloud of birdsong,
when I hear a whisper, soft as a breeze:
April.

I got to see another March, the birth
of another springtime, the beginning
of this year’s parade of the flowers
with their songs of promises fulfilled,
prayers answered, praises sung,
despite all that opposed them.
And here stand the wild daffodils,
ruffled sunshine, gently dancing
their thanks and farewells. My heart
chants with them: Thank you, March.
Thank you, March. Thank you, March.
Farewell.

Overnight, the temperature dropped
below freezing, and in the morning,
there you were, fallen flat on the ground.
Sometimes the world seems so unfair.
I spread sunflower seeds on the rocks
and the chickadees came, chirping
their songs, as always, no matter what,
and unfailingly making me smile,
even today, when I thought you were lost.
It was well after noon before I braved
the day’s cold a second time, the sun
having issued its irresistible invitation.
And there you were, tall and glad,
basking in the light, as if it were nothing
to rise from your sprawl on the ground,
your life force all but turned to crystal
from the cold. Stunned, I stared, my eyes
moist with gratitude for spring’s undeniable,
ever-returning proofs.

Okay, little lamb. You did it.
Laying there in the new grass,
your baby hooves tucked up,
your ears poked out, your face
wearing that little lamb smile,
you stole my heart. My eyes
send you pets as warm as
this new spring sunshine,
and I sing you welcome,
little one. Oh, baby!
You stole this old girl’s heart.