Circle of Grace: In Praise of the Months and Seasons
Struggle and heartache can so crowd a year
it can feel like a curse,
but bid adieu to it gently.
Previous hollowings have been known
to make for winds singing through.
Working dry soil with patience
has been known to bear fruit.
Deep mystery the procession of our years
intermingling dark and light.
Perhaps apparent year of curse
is carrier of seed of light.
Bid adieu to it gently.
Land barrenness birthing into green,
blossom profusion blessing the rain, praising
the sun.
Juices, flowing again,
warm winds blowing again,
everything growing again,
O sweet springtime on planet Earth!
January, on the surface, is a darkness.
Holidays are past,
cold settles in,
spring is remote.
Oh, it could depress, this month, if you let it.
But looking deeper yeilds richness:
year's brand newness,
winter's midpoint,
time to turn inward,
nurture seed,
worship fire,
sing to see white magic falling.
The mystic within is brought to the brim
with the crystalline fullness of winter.
We've a thicket of red raspberries
to make you drool.
Quantity picked is nothing
next to joy picking.
Deep shade,
berries plump with allure, ripe red with succulence,
father and kids chattering contentedly
braving scratches in a tangle
for rubies in a bucket.
For this alone would July sing.
Month of the Secret Shifting
February is the month of the secret shifting.
What becomes manifest in March
incubates in February.
You can feel it in the air,
some days almost taste it.
January's entrenchment now incrementally yields.
The unattuned are bored by February's drab,
not displeased with her brevity,
but lovers of seasons can't help savoring winter's
lingering
even while thrilling to the secret shifting
that augurs spring!
Ecstatic things happen each May--
rhododendra open in glory,\poppies wave to the sun,
roses festoon in sweeps of intricate perfection.
For these three extravagances alone
May deserves lasting praise.
Don't rush past beauty.
Allow mind to ponder,
heart to sing,
soul to soar.
Discover when you stop and smell the roses
what May is for.
Tomatoes are unabashedly sensuous--
ripen into red allurement,
yield supple roundness to pleassure touch,
surrender mouthdripping succulence.
Add sun's enticement to ecstasy and thunderstorm's release
and you have more than ample reason why gardening hearts
soar the duration of a sensuous season.
Can You Tell I'm Ready?
Garden depletion sounds the call
for woodpile completion.
It's time to renew complex relationship with
chainsaw,
grip maulhandle robustly,
hear sweet finality of clean split
as sinews stretch and ripple.
It's time to seize the day with autumn vigor--
can you tell I'm ready?
Next time you're blessed doubly with solitude and snow,
go out, stand in it, and listen--
to flakes falling,
ice crystal sensuous descent
encircling with music if only you listen.
The more you're intuitively inclined,
artistically or mystically inclined,
the more what is heard opens spirit,
transports spirit,
makes spirit sing--
if only you yield to the lure of heaven falling
and go out, stand in it, and listen.
