Tuesday, March 27, 2018

Listening for Spring

Tonight, I was doing a bit of spring cleaning. Wishful thinking, as I watch the snow flurries outside of my window. It's that time of year.

As I looked through boxes, I found myself thinking. I'm tired of the dark and the cold. I'm tired of stale air and abbreviated walks... and then I found this. It is a poem written long ago by a young woman with a similar wish.

It made me realize that I am, who I am. Despite knowing that in the sweltering heat of summer, I will look back and regret this wish. It seems that every year about this time, I wish it anyway.


Listening for Spring


Window cracked open to swirling cold air,
I lay in bed, settled deep in warm hollows and listen.
To silent nights and still mornings.
To churning gusts and crackling winter.
Peace becomes desperation,
Cloaked in frozen dusk.

Still, I listen,
longing for a distant high note,
to start the budding spring,
for the creak of barren branch
weighed down by a winged choir.

Nothing.

I sink back into lethargy,
Eavesdropping on the wind.

Today,

Today!

A chirp, a pipe, a warble, trill.
An aria announcement,
All sullen hearts take flight!
No more craning. No more questioning.

They are here.

Lilting melodies of hope,
Hymns of endurance
Anthems of faith.

Renewed.
I weed the depths of a tired soul,
fall to my knees and thank the Heavens
for feathered, miniature, messengers of spring.