Category: Spring Songs

You there, beaming your golden
smile, trumpeting your song
as if the world were your kingdom,
as if you intended to proclaim
joy from shore to shore,
you can be my sunshine
on this cloudy summer day.
I’ll take your song and sing it.
I’ll beam your message of joy.
Let the clouds grow and the rain
fall, and may they sing, too,
until everything is shining
with your golden, perfect song.

Few places are totally barren or wholly devoid of hope.
Life pushes itself through the smallest cracks, takes root in the most unlikely places.
Eventually, the longest winter gives way to spring. The darkness gives way to light.

Be at peace.

We, who are not made of rock, are filled with more possibilities than we know.
Keep faith alive in your heart; hold fast to your aspirations.
Regardless of appearances or circumstances, life will make a way.

Love pushes itself through the narrowest openings.
In the rockiest places, it spreads its boundless grace.

June writes her message in symbols—
the wild rose, the bee gathering its pollen.
It’s all too pure and tender for words,
too ancient, too universal. We see,
and our hearts respond with longing
for those moments when we ourselves
drank of this mystery, transported
by its perfection and joy.

Knowing that Earth is no Eden, that those
who venture here are subject to the dark
as well as the light, the Great Yes sends
healing. It comes in countless forms—
in gentle smiles, in skillful hands, in words
and music. It flows in the veins of trees
and of plants. And today it dances
the dance of the legendary yarrow,
its white blossoms filling the fields,
lining the roadsides. The sight of it
alone holds the magic to heal
your spirit. Leaf, blossom, stem,
all can heal, comforting, soothing
ailments and wounds, chasing
the no away. May you be whole.
May you be blessed. May you know
that you are loved.

I fall asleep at night with flowers
dancing through my head.
Tonight the scene is bordered
with oceans of blue petals
tumbling around centers of gold,
wave after wave of them
washing up against the wild roses,
surrounding the stand of water iris,
lapping the feet of the holly and the fern.
Their song is a lullaby of tiny bells chiming
ever so softly: “Remember. Remember.”
I sleep well, smiling.

Stick your neck out.
Even if you think that
what you have to show
ain’t pretty, climb out
of the dark of the swamp.
Bathe in the warmth,
in the light, in the sun.
Breathe the fresh air
through your nose.
Let it dance through
your toes. It’s sun time,
fellah. Let it all hang out.

On this spring day, as the earth sings its joy,
let there be gladness in your heart.
Let there be thanksgiving for all that lives,
for breath and fragrant breezes,
for blossoming peonies and deep blue skies,
and for the eyes that see them.
Praise the trilling birdsong and the peeping
of wee frogs, and let there be thanksgiving
for the ears that so merrily hear them.
For all the friends who touch your heart,
and for the heart that loves them,
let there be joyous thanks.
For the priceless gift of being,
for the journey and all it brings,
on this spring day, when the earth sings its joy,
let there be gladness in your heart;
let there be thanksgiving.

What if you were to breathe this serenity
into your heart? What if, before you spoke,
before you formed a judgment or opinion,
its green calm flooded your mind? What if
its harmony revealed the way to peace?
What if you spent this day enveloped
in its sacred song, letting go. letting go?

There’s no plush carpet here,
no beige walls or polished surfaces.
No sir. What you have before you
is a virtual riot of gladness,
an unrestrained jubilee,
sprung to life all of its own accord.
Kinda wild you say? Exactly.
No committees, no policies,
no locks, or clocks or alarms,
no written plan, no codes,
no outlined parking spaces.
It’s nothing but rampant joy
set loose and bursting
with freedom. Sorta makes you
want to let out a holler,
kick up your heels, don’t it?

Here, in the world where time flows,
not everything happens at once.
The symphony has its movements,
its measures. It has its rhythms
and moods. Each thing unfolds
according to its nature, coming
when it is meant to come, leaving
when it is meant to go. Trust that.
It may not always seem so, given
the limitations of our view. But
after sufficient seasons have passed,
your heart begins to know that
time has a way of doing things
in the right order.