Spring Rain

google

As the day fills up with busy-ness:

an elderly friend weeping on the phone,

needing a visit,

places to go,

things to pick up,

the hours ticking by,

may I be as the deer

nibbling grass in the meadow,

grateful for each mouthful 

after the scarcity of winter,

grateful for mobility and grace,

awareness of

the Miracle of Now,

and the glorious response 

of all growing things,

self included,

to the blessing of spring rain.

I know it is summer everywhere else, but summer has still not found us on Vancouver Island. We appear to be living in an endless spring. I am not complaining, given the terrible storms elsewhere, floods, wildfires, devastation. An endless spring is always preferable to unending winter:) Happy July 1st, eh?

A Hint of Spring

[Englishman River]

Today it was mild, and one could smell the earth, the freshness of the air, even a hint of spring on the wayward breeze. There is a good 45 minutes of added daylight at the end of the day, which excites me. Every scrap of extra daylight is welcome, given the constant grays of this winter valley. 

Soon the earth will be warm and it will be Open Door Weather for months and months. I so love leaving my doors open wide to the outside. Once it is warm enough, I love sitting on my porch swing, having my tea and contemplating absolutely nothing but the gentle rocking back and forth.

Before too long, one more winter will be over. Spring is heading this way.

Spring Solstice

[image from crystallinks.com]

For some time, now,

Traveler has been

watching the days lengthen,

welcoming the

extra light,

morning and evening,

putting

behind her

the difficult winter,

which has birthed

the beginning

of her next journey.

Now comes

the putting away

of the old

and

the welcoming

of the new.

Now comes

increased ease,

and Possibility.

What gestated

all winter,

bathed

in her tears,

now brings

to fruition

all that was

making its

difficult passage.

Traveler

sets aside

what no longer

serves her.

She prepares

herself

with hope

and relief

for  renewal,

a lightening

of spirit.

She flows

with the emergence

of a new cycle

with trust,

with grace,

and enormous

gratitude,

knowing that

all is

as it

should be,

a time of

letting go,

a time of

stripping down,

a time of

being true

to one's own spirit

and its needs.

Renewal

Hi kids, I have been saving these carrots (which I got from google images) for a while, waiting for spring to officially be here. I want to get my pesky fairy off the blogroll, so will post this poem I wrote  way long ago, in the days when only vegetation ruled the earth - a time when I still dreamed girlish dreams and waited for Romance, who had been incredibly nearsighted till then, a sort of Mr. McGoo of the Heart, to stumble upon me. Now I simply hope to live long enough for life to get a bit easier, and to be able to keep writing for some years more.

But when I wrote this poem, it was 1981. I tended a gigantic garden then, to feed my hungry kids, and the nature spirits worked with me to produce a lush bounty of fruits and veggies.

I read this poem at the coffeehouse, dressed in a long full-length purple dress and black leggings, and everyone chuckled kindly about the carrots. From then till now - a hundred years, a mere heartbeat, a snap of the fingers. Cool thing, aging and reflection : illuminated moments that still live, in memory.

Renewal
March 3, 1981

Tiny stirrings,
Buds curled, waiting,
Limp, brown grasses
trying to turn green,
A busy twittering of birds
too long silent
in the bare brown branches
of winter........

Soon I'll be planting seeds
in warm, dark earth,
watching greenness growing
where once a wasteland lay,
Letting the seeds go
to grow
whichever way
they want to grow,
having finally learned
to just let living flow.

Perhaps a wondering lurks
within my eyes this year
as I start my slow walk back
from Siberian retreat.
The last frozen wastes
are melting near my heart
and tentatively
-oh, more carefully
this time-
I ponder what new thing
might emerge
from this springtime
of possibilities
I see.

I think
it might be nice
to plant something
besides carrots here
this year.

Porch Swing Therapy

[dailymail.co.uk]

To rekindle hope,

to regain optimism,

come sit

on my porch swing

and listen

for five minutes

to the joyous

small songbirds

of the

season.

They are

singing

their hearts out,

because

the earth

has warmed

and turned,

and spring

has come again.

They live

in the now.

They are busily

building

their nests

as if there

will always

be a

safe branch

beneath them.

They are

laying

their eggs

as if

there will

always be

a tomorrow.

They remind us

that we

must save

this imploding planet

so they

- and we -

may continue to live,

continue to hear

the beautiful

songbirds

of spring.

Spring

Fog blanketing

the trees,

this sleepy

morning,

will lift later

to reveal

sunshine,

to warm

the waking

earth.

Yesterday,

I could smell

earth

stirring,

coming

to life

once

again.

Last night

the golden hue

of sunset

came late, after eight o'clock,

gilding the trees

which blazed

outside my window,

lifting my heart

at the

spectacular beauty,

mine to enjoy

simply

by Looking Up,

Looking Out.

The crocuses

are smiling

all this week,

resplendent.

Daffodils are butting

their heads

against last fall's

leaf-blanket.

The earth turns

and turns,

the cycles

of sleep and waking,

life and death,

come and go,

in spite of us,

reminding us

that there is

always

Hope.

Consider the lily

[image from google - the lily-of-the-valley is the kind of lily I see most often in my part of the world]

The prompt at Poets United Thursday Think Tank yesterday was "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow". Yesterday we had a snowstorm, and today the earth is encrusted in ice. So this is what came through :

I consider the lily:

deep underground,

with a small pick-axe,

muttering.

She is 

trying to

chip away at

the frozen hardpan

above,

grumbling about 

the sheer impossibility

of ever emerging

from this

icy tunnel,

where the ground

will not yield,

where nothing

assists

her passage

into the sun.

I identify.

Late winter

can feel like this,

to a lily,

to a hungry crow,

to a tired human

afraid to open

the oil bill.

Like the lily,

we all await

just a little

"give" in the earth,

so we can

get some purchase on

our passage,

slip

one more time

above

the frozen hardpan

and into

the light and warmth

of one more spring.

WILD SWANS

Stamp River
May 6, 2001

Have you ever seen a swan walking?
One morning, blessing the vicissitudes of a fitful spring,
a dozen swans were clustered
at the river's bend,
most in the water,
some few lumbering still
upon the bank,
furtive and embarrassed
at being thus unusually displayed
as an aging Beauty
caught in disarray.

Then, as if by an inner signal,
heads protuberant and seeking
purchase for their clumsy wide-webbed toes,
splayed precariously
upon the muddy bank,
over the edge each went,
heavy bodies dragged unwillingly behind,
each white bird
plunging, slipping down,
in a flapping-feathered flurry of distress,
the whole flock gliding off,
serene and graceful as a pleasant dream,
the way moments of sudden fleeting grace
fall on our heavy, so encumbered hearts,
transforming past and evolutionary pain
with sweet possibilities
again, and yet
again.