3.12.13 How Do I Find My Self Surprised

How do I find myself surprised

the winter snow completely banished

from some errant morning rain

It's March 12 for God’s sake

Even New Englanders

should not be stunned

Here, I am mourning the loss

of pale intricate bark contrasted

with deep fervent snow

This season’s proprio motu

now straggled down ravines

lain cross the overgrown ridge

Winter grasses, rich yellow/brown , lie

fast asleep within their toil

Analogous  rilant ochres

arrested from last summer's efforts

In all of these, I remain

chastened, soothed

But now here we go again, irrevocable wakening

Iris by the bleak back steps

heedless, murmuring as it stretches

the Maple  up against the north wall

gestating rich red blossom bouquets

Lungwort clamoring by the

restive  Rugosa

As the avians arrive, daily, entire families

Cults of Robins, countries of Starling, the

gaiety  of reunion, the

Beaked laughter while searching out

Their sustenance, then urgent coupling

Even in New York City last weekend

The snowdrop blossoms irreverently

burst forth from packed city soil

the crowds rolling last snowballs, then heard

racing by, swift, on bicycle and rollerblade

joyfully aghast at incoming trickling Spring

Tell the Red Wing

engaged in age old call and refrain

Give notice to the Blue Heron

elegantly returning to stirring river banks

Whisper to the Beech buds

unfurling bravely

even now, as we speak

Our smallest planet, spinning

Small as a small nothing, we, amongst

 billions of galaxies ; The whole season

shuddering itself along, Winter once again

giving way to

enunciant, estrus-ient Spring  

3.20.13 O Sweet Spontaneous Earth.... Spring Equinox

'O sweet spontaneous earth ...thou answerest them only with spring'  e.e.cummings

Oh Robin Redbreast, I hear your song, a flock of you outdoors this evening as I leave my office behind, all of you singing and talking, gathered together in these old Maples, convening upon one small grassy spot, the only area bare of recent snow for miles and miles. Deep red breasts resonating with the bright light of sunset on  this Spring Equinox, as we slowly come out of darkness and gradually move into light, the earth continuing its turns and we make our illimitable way round our sun. 

As the river streams noisily by, and all else is blanketed with late March snows, this glorious flock persists here, and I do wonder if truly the worms are awake and crawling to the surface for your evening meal.

As the same adolescent Red Tail Hawk perched back at home in my Aspen for days, each afternoon, late winter  hunger, awaits the earliest clumsy dove making for my birdseed  Squalls of Starlings come by, but who cares about seed when the whole group is not at ease together? Ah, all the rules borne of experience for each and every species, each and every avian group's wisdom. No crow eats alone here, but the lone small coyote comes nightly to the compost, their sibling either no longer with us, or well fed with more skills. New types of birds arrive in the yard daily, as the Geese leave by the thousands from the Umass fields, golden bellies blazing in the morning light, young and old, taking to the skies, to the northward path. In the evening, awaiting  my beloved outside his office, I watch as the old dog relishes the last of the snows, tasting, smelling, tromping through them with great delight, while three young crows far up in a nearby Pine harass a Hawk from the tree, darting in with assertive attacks, until it flies out, and goes for them, angered, and the three take off, chastened for the day.

As two big dogs came by  for appointments earlier this day, for knees and hips and joints, and when I finish my day, there are their delighted tracks perusing the land by the river.

And here, Spring approaches, as it has for millions of years, with or without human presence, no matter the species or living things present, still the earth does turn and moves round the sun, as this solar system and the billions of others turns and spins and moves through its cycles and times, endless, as one of my clients, a Physicist, would remind me. Not infinite, but endless, he stresses the difference. Saying ,this is pivotal for human awareness, reminding me  with his wisdom.

 And so I contemplate endlessness of the cosmos. Of  possibility. Of, in my neck of the woods, healing. Healing of limbs and walking and blood pressure and brain injury and digestion and anxiety and so much more...so much healing is possible that I watch daily in my practice, and in this, and all things, my beloved's breath in the early morning darkness, the laugh of my offspring on the phone, the banter of the six year old playing next door, the cry of the client with so much pain or sadness- so very much is possible. In all things,  I hear the song of endlessness...of possibility. In the age old Equinox, the time that binds us to so many others who have come before. Who will follow, no matter the circumstance. For the cosmos is a grand , endless thing. And we but a small precious moment in its expanse.