Tag Archives: Poetry

February, a new spring

The early kiss
dewdrops on the grass
enliving the buds– soon there will be cherries
the fullness of the ewes
and the feathered gatherings on the branches
cacophany of new life
figs forming on the vine
and the emergence of crocus

6 more weeks?
Perhaps in the eastland blanketed by snow
The ancestral well frozen solid
The ever southern matching white owls
But not here
Not now
as children play stick ball in shorts
and adults worriedly wonder what this new earth brings
 
Our seasonal celebrations are rooted in the tradiitons of the past… What agrarian societies celebrated during certain times of the year in Europe and the near east. However, we also celebrate these festivals as and during the seasons we see in nature.
 
As a child, I would often hear the joke about "flood, mud, fire and earthquake" as the 4 seasons for the South Bay, however, we did have seasonal patterns and could track when we could finally stop wearing a sweater, when there would be ice on the windshield, etc. Not the Celtic seasons experienced in pre-Industrial England, but we definately had our own wheel of the year.
 
I personally do not have much history or tie to the Southeast,however, my partner grew up here, and said that the N. Georgia mountains he knew were not like this. When he was little, there was snow every winter (not a ton, but a few inches) and frequent icing. There were leafy summers so much so that people would come here to visit from NY, and there is a gastateparks.org iPhone leafwatch app. Springs are full of green pollen and summers stickey and oppressive.
 
In the 7 years I have been here, spring begins in January, and the cherries start blooming (since the cherryblossem festival is a Very Important Festival in the city ehre I grew up, I know how terribly early this is). Summer starts in the end of April and ends late October. We sometimes get a blizzard, we see lots of tornadoes, and much instablility.
 
How do we honour the seasons, the predictability, when we live in a state of flux and there really is none left?

In the spaces between

In the spaces between
between work and play
the time to wonder, to obsess and doubt
in the space between crawls the what if

Butterfly flutters in the spaces between
changing the weather across the globe when they flutter and look back
In the spaces between
the pauses
where all possiblities lie
stop!!
stop observing and embrace the mystical all
the dance of nuit and hadit
breathing in and breathing out
the quiet reflection before and after exhuberant and passionate activity
Binah, the great Understanding
the realization and escape from sorrow thru its recognition
thru its transcendance
by dwelling in the spaces between