Saturday, April 17, 2010

Spirits of Spring

Tremulous tendrils of frail spring flowers,
Pushing up from the undergrowth;
Softly speaking from their quiet dens,
As wandering, I ponder them..

A yellow trout lily gently tilts its head,
Muttering words 'bout its muddy bed.
It was a long hard journey out, she says,
It took me pushing for all I had.

Fairweather mayapple nods assent:
"Water makes for fine new friends,
As it scours the riverbed on its course,
And leaves us with newfound neighbors to tend."

Such is the life of the forest floor,
Where never a day passes by for naught.
Where every action has its reason,
Bringing about each turn of the season

The little dutchmans' breeches, then,
Swagger about to call me in.
Only when I stoop can I see,
The reason they are calling to me

For beneath their ferny feathers lie
The seeds of yet another friend:
Little round leaves pushing forth to the sky,
Bring bluebells breathing a soulful sigh..

Can you hear the colors? The cacophony
Of green and yellow and blue and pink.
Like a symphony from the brown has sprung,
In miniature tunes, great harmony.

Twinleaf blooms under bladderbush
Sweetshrub above trillium and yes its true,
There's wildest blue delphinium there,
Daring the rest: "Come join the choir!"

In spring, my heart will open again,
If only I can just take to the woods,
And quietly bring my soul inside
To listen, to ponder, to breathe in deep

The loudest songs are not the birds for me,
But the quiet callings of the native flora.
They'll  beckon only if you're willing to bend
To hear the mysteries in the undergrowth.

Long long ago, a native friend said,
Why do you give your heart's power away?
Listen, don't talk, listen to all,
And hold it tenderly to your breast.

There you will find the heart of the earth
With all its gifts at your fingertips
His advice has never failed me since
Nor have the words of the native plants.

Here's geranium shy, as I'm passing by,
Shining a smile in her cool, cool pink.
She tells me its time to shed winters pallor,
And come to the pool where the new sprouts gather.

They're teasing me, these new little shoots,
Challenging me to call them by name.
They know mine, they never forget,
So how could I offer them any less.

The tiny palms of rue anemone,
Remember every inch of me
And brushing my feet as I bustle by,
They slow me to hear their murmurings.

These are my truest friends, you know,
The fairy spirits of the forest below,
Who return life each spring to our cherished world
And herald the dawning of life renewed.

God above, or fairy below.
I know no difference between you two.
The flowers tell me the story true,
That we are all one, and all with you.

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