Sing the Poem
It’s in the rhyming,
Or maybe in the timing,
But the throbbing of the beat
Sets to tap-tapping my feet.
Poet, ply and play your trade
With poetry you have made.
Come sing with us, sun and moon!
Come dance on the lilt of the tune.
Spring is still several weeks away, but there’s something about its approach that already lightens my mood in anticipation. Soon heavy winter gear and wool sweaters can be stored away for another season. And I look forward to a resurrection of new life as plants and trees rouse themselves from their long sleep to again fill the world with riotous colour.
Spring has its own challenges, true. The force of nature in springtime can feel wild and chaotic and determined. It will be wonderful to see the birds building their nests, but our resident woodpecker began yesterday, once more, to drill into our deck siding. There’s work to be done in springtime, planting of gardens, grass to cut.
Winter has its icy dangers, but I am always aware of our vulnerability in spring and summer as we move outdoors. Life seems teeming and reckless in its abandon. At least once in springtime, I will feel an overwhelming wave of sadness. Spring and summer, when we are freer, can feel dangerous. It’s more difficult to enclose and protect our loved ones from harm.
But in spring, sorrows don’t stay for long. They recede in the warmth of the sun, in the breeze that caresses us like a lover and invites us once again to live our own lives fully. Eternity is forever, but our time here is so limited that we want to take in all that we can. As the poet Mary Oliver asked, “what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
And even if no one else is around, we can turn up the music and dance while we do our household chores. We can dance in the dark, under the stars, in sacred solitude.
