Spring Shivaree
There’s something about spring that releases an exuberance in my spirit. The air is warmer, the birds wake me earlier every day. The frogs call out at night, “Here I am, here I am!” with an abandon that makes me grin. Small green leaves emerge overnight, radishes pop up in two days time after I drop the small round seeds into the dark, moist soil, patting them in like I once tucked my son into his crib those years ago. Time flies by and the days grow longer and I can’t wait to get out into the fresh air every day.
My spirituality is deeply grounded in the world of Nature. She holds me, she gives me solace, she fills my eyes with beauty. I am renewed in a few moments in the sun, or walking in the woods. I spend time looking closely at the trillium flower, memorizing it as if no others will come again next spring while reveling in the sheer abundance of unfurling ferns around me. Calm and awe mix together and lighten my heart.
I offer this poem to you all, a simple celebration of the riot of colors and sights that greeted me one day as I took a small stroll around my yard and garden, where the wild things grow along side the cultivated. May you find the warmth of the sun, the solace and renewal of spirit that the colors, smells and textures of Spring in the world give us. Stop to look, listen, smell, taste and touch the abundance of new life. Share one of your moments with a friend, a loved one, or someone who may not be able to access the abundance as easily as you can. Smile. It’s spring!
Spring Shivaree
The williwaw wind scuds the clouds away,
scrubbing the sky into sapphire brilliance.
My eyes, dulled by days and days of gray,
shriek in sudden sun-blinded joy.
Every color screams at once for attention,
purple crocus preens among bleating emerald grass,
saucy yellow jonquils in shadows glow.
Bobbing snowdrops, milk splatters against chocolate earth,
below glowing leaves, tiny clouds of green fairy dust
surround the jaunty jay’s raucous calls,
green-budded twig a resting place for eyes and bird.
Lime green newness has coated the shrub.
Cherished spring color pulls my eyes right round.
Into back-lit branches I peer, tight-squinted, to see the hope.
Skewering into the radiance, I want
to catch small leaves dancing in the wind,
each branch dips and bounces, parading its resilience.
Red-flamed primrose flaunts her skirts,
rubbing up against her gaudy magenta mate,
no fashion sense at all, these beauties.
I must go closer, ever closer,
“Look at me! No, look at me!” they call.
Soft lavender hyacinth tolerantly nods.
She knows her turn will come.