Out of the Dark
March 21st says my calendar — spring only a week away, yet all around me the land is chuckling: “Spring is here!”
Sunlight swells the margins of each day a bit broader. Twigs, gray and still for months, now nudge out color and green bud, transforming humus and soil to petal, pollen and emerging fresh veined leaves. They know.
The mockingbird that fled in the fall has returned to reclaim his residence in my pine top, yodelling raucously from dawn to well after dusk. He knows. The little fir tree I planted in the empty church yard a few years ago has claimed its place in the world now and meets this spring laden and bursting with pollen cones. Clouds of yellow drift down from its branches as I give them a shake.
A part of me is still loath to emerge from winter’s quiet darkness and sleepy peace, but an excitement is building in my brain I can’t evade: Eagerness? Hope? Plans! Possibilities! Nature, spring are at work in me, too, it seems. My sap is rising with new ideas: travel, love, projects, adventures. Everything swells now. I might as well give myself to the joy of it, the new hope, the faith in fresh possibility.
What is rising in you? I want to hear. In the north and on the mountain side snows are melting, water trickling. What is melting in us? What new clarity is liquid, beginning to flow and gurgle over the landscape of this new year? The mockingbird doesn’t want to sing alone.
Read poem of the week: That My Eyes Open
Lovely my friend. Ah, what is indeed bursting like spring within me these days!? That could be an interesting story. Of course, we are reaching the age where having spring bursting within us is not always good.