Winter’s seeds are sown.
Beneath me I feel the pregnant earth.
She is swollen; soft and opening.
Preparing for what comes next.
Aliveness passes through vulnerability.
Haven’t we all felt that push?
Been in that tight place?
Forced to bring change into the world.
I watched suffering bear down on the skinny fox and wounded deer.
One fed the other and for both, the anguish ended.
That knowing gave me solace.
Within the circle of life,
the womb of creation is held.
Light comes sooner and stays longer these days.
It burns through Winter’s heavy cloak of cold;
vanishing with it, misery and madness.
Oh, to see the land kissed by green again!
To hold all its babies, close to my heart!
Restless with anticipation,
giddy with excitement,
I wait for Spring to take its first breath;
the birth of beginnings.
There is a Divine power
in the early hours.
The morning star a tiny twinkle,
yet bright enough to make your eyes crinkle.
The hoe’s sharp blade breaks the soil’s crust
and pulls back a dark moist mound before another thrust.
Pungent earthy smells blow past my nose.
Here is a good home for pea roots to grow.
Sacred seeds of possibility
planted by hands soiled with humility.
Tenderly placed within the prayer of earth’s fertile womb
asking for each to bud and bloom.
Oh the ambitious garden projects spring pushes us to complete!
The sky’s daylight is beginning to retreat.
The gardener’s body is stiff and bones ache.
Just one more row for goodness’ sake!
I rise with Divine power
of the birth hour.
can’t be begged, bought or borrowed.
On the cusp of this new season, Mother Earth’s breath smells of tender grass, sunlight and infinite possibility. Oh, the ambitious garden projects spring pushes us to complete in the light of one day! I’ve learned much about gardening over the years. All that collective wisdom can be summed up in one sentence. Garden chores may stiffen my bones but they soften the soreness in the world.
“In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.” ~ Margaret Atwood
On this, the calendars last day of winter,
my glance is drawn toward the bouncing crab apple branches to my right.
They’re laden with a feast of red wrinkled berries for a winged-one.
I saw the round bird’s gray-brown feathers with warm orange under parts flutter joyfully by.
On wings of anticipation the migration prayer has been consummated.
Springs ambassador has returned!
The vernal song hibernating within us is aroused.
“Cheerily, cheer up, cheer up, cheerily, cheer up”! The Robin sings.
On this, the calendars first day of spring.
American Robin photo by Dave Menke- US Fish and Wildlife (public domain)