Posts Tagged ‘this is spring’

  • April 15, 2014

    a poem…


    …for a day that is almost spring but isn’t quite yet.

    here in the time between by jack ridl

    here in the time between snow
    and the bud of the rhododendron,
    we watch the robins, look into

    the gray, and narrow our view
    to the patches of wild grasses
    coming green. the pile of ashes

    in the fireplace, haphazard sticks
    on the paths and gardens, leaves
    tangled in the ivy and periwinkle

    lie in wait against our will. this
    drawing near of renewal, of stems
    and blossoms, the hesitant return

    of the anarchy of mud and seed
    says not yet to the blood’s crawl.
    when the deer along the stream

    look back at us, we know again
    we have left them. We pull
    a blanket over us when we sleep.

    as if living in a prayer, we say
    amen to the late arrival of red,
    the stun of green, the muted yellow

    at the end of every twig. we will
    lift up our eyes unto the trees hoping
    to discover a gnarled nest within

    the branches’ negative space. and
    we will watch for a fox sparrow
    rustling in the dead leaves underneath.

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    Filed Under: GOOD READS


  • May 8, 2012

    april showers carry into may

    thunderstorms gathering. the sound of this I love almost as much as the storm itself. clouds rush in. settling as we quicken our steps and dig around in our bags for the umbrella we hope is there. trees rustle. swaying softly at first, but in a moment, forcefully. as though they might topple over if not for roots digging deep into the earth. and then the rain falls. like a bucket spilled over a sieve. not gradually growing, but all at once. with a rush of excitement and a bit of melodrama.

    there’s just something about everything getting ready. preparing instantly and all at once.

    like a symphony right before the start. players enter. settling as we are seated and decide who will take command of the shared armrest. papers rustle. black and white sheets of notes and bars and soaring scores moving into their proper place in the order of things. and then the conductor quiets us all. and the silence before the opening crescendo envelopes us. and then the music is there. not gradually growing, but all at once. with a rush of excitement and a bit of melodrama.

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  • March 21, 2012


    spring is here with a gentle ferociousness that reminds us of the persistence of change. of course, change like this we welcome with the shedding of our winter layers and usher in with open windows and fresh tulips placed in mason jars. we even welcome the drama of thundershowers and the moody rebellion of clouds as they fight to take back their reign on the sky. we flood to courtyards and park benches on our lunch breaks. roll up our pant legs and take off our suit jackets. and soak up the vitamin d our bodies have craved through months of winter.

    we lament at the brevity of spring. cherry blossom and magnolia trees burst to life in a matter of hours and seem to shed their skin just as quickly. so we insist on meandering walks through tree lined neighborhoods. we allow ourselves to stop and breathe in the scent of new life. we allow our eyes to study the branches above us. to feast on colors so vibrant they do not seem real. these are the trees of storybooks and fairytales we read as children.

    spring brings a snowfall all its own. we walk through fallen flower petals like a bride down the aisle and try not to crush the colors below us. unlike the leaves of autumn, they do not crunch. their death is in the height of life. it seems a bit cruel but somehow necessary. the wind blows and we feel the blossoms fall into our hair like snowflakes.

    go outside. take a deep breath. walk a little slower. smile at strangers. for spring is here and life seems brighter.