The Charms of Spring

Last weekend at the farmer's market I bought a bouquet of burnt orange ranunculus.  I had been eyeing them for the last couple of weeks and decided this was the week they would come home with me.  We were nearing the end of a few unseasonably hot days and I had my doubts that these beauties would last mid-week.  And indeed on Wednesday they did start their natural decline, opening and shedding petals, while a few flowers remained in their Rembrandtesque charm.  I think this is one reason I love these flowers, they look like a painting from another time or that they were cut from a 17th century garden. I noticed the older they got, the more the flowers opened into the releasing of their petals. The vibrant color and lushness of their youth is unmatched and yet I remain drawn to them in their softer colors and smaller blooms.  Even in their "declining" state, they remain a source of delight in my meditation space.  They remind me of the gifts of every season, of every age.  I am one of those odd ones who has always looked forward to middle age and beyond.  Maybe I sensed I would be a late bloomer.  I am excitedly nearing this time in my life, but I also see that there are some gifts of youth that would serve me well to remember and reconnect with.  When I was younger I was more prone to doing something just for the joy of doing it, not worrying what others would think, how much it would cost in money, time or energy or if it would "do something for me."  I have allowed time to wilt this part of me away.  As children we don't think, "I can't wait to be an adult so i can loose my sense of delight and be afraid of being myself."  But, unfortunately, I think this happens to many of us.  And if you are like me, it probably happened subtly over many years.  But the good news is this part of us is still within us.  And spring is a wonderful time to reconnect with what has lied dormant.  The earth and the energies of spring show us the way every year.  Why not see where it will take you?

Seeping

The new sun dries the pools of winter

In this perennial act of mercy, 

The last remnants of her stay are dissolved.

I look closely to find

She is quietly seeping into her new gown.

She mixes mud, dust, light on my face

The seasons exchange secrets across this pulled canvas.

Pale arid canyons softly fill with golden streams.

In the cave

A long asleep bear grumbles awake

A shake of the leg

A twitch of the eyelash

He braces himself as best he can, but the months underground

Have taken something he can’t live without

This waking death every year

For something he can’t live without…

The unveiling of her new gown.