blues

...a welcome sight.

skunk cabbage

And now as the iron rinds over
the ponds start dissolving,
you come, dreaming of ferns and flowers
and new leaves unfolding,
upon the brash
turnip-hearted skunk cabbage
slinging its bunches leaves up
through the chilling mud.
You kneel beside it. The smell
is lurid and flows out in the most
unabashed way, attracting
into itself a continual spattering
of protein. Appalling its rough
green caves, and the thought
of the thick root nested below, stubborn
and powerful as instinct!
But these are the woods you love,
where the secret name
of every death is life again – a miracle
wrought surely not of mere turning
but of dense and scalding reenactment. Not
tenderness, not longing, but daring and brawn
pull down the frozen waterfall, the past.
Ferns, leaves, flowers, the last subtle
refinements, elegant and easeful, wait
to rise and flourish.
What blazes the trail is not necessarily pretty.

-Mary Oliver

pond

unleashed

I have been wandering tensely for at least a few days, holding my breath as I study the fields and trees, all the while looking for signs and asking myself, is it greener today, are the buds just a little thicker, am I imagining?

Today I confirmed that what has felt like a low hum is indeed the release I've been looking for.  The faintest trickle ahead of the flood.  The March wind still blows cold as it carries the lingering winter chill from dark fields -- but the life force is unleashed.    

burning spear

the weight

up from below