I can't help but smile as the sun shines upon me and I witness the beauty of the natural world around me - budding and blossoming; each element, each life form experiencing it's process of growth in their own sense of timing and unique expression. The season of spring holds promise for the potential that resides within all of us.
In honor of National Poetry Month, I'm extending a poem to my readers in this springtime Full Moon edition. Originally, I wanted to share one of my favorite Mary Oliver poems relevant to the spring season, perfectly titled "Spring." When writing this letter, I came across a newfound favorite Oliver poem that I felt more relevant to my own springtime experience. I've been observing and communing with the awakening of the natural world around me this spring far more than any year past. From foraging, to tracking, to barefoot walking in Prospect Park, my sense of awareness to the world around me continues to blossom in tune with spring's sweet songs.
Such Singing in the Wild Branches
It was spring
and I finally heard him
among the first leaves––
then I saw him clutching the limb
in an island of shade
with his red-brown feathers
all trim and neat for the new year.
First, I stood still
and thought of nothing.
Then I began to listen.
Then I was filled with gladness––
and that’s when it happened,
when I seemed to float,
to be, myself, a wing or a tree––
and I began to understand
what the bird was saying,
and the sands in the glass
for a pure white moment
while gravity sprinkled upward
like rain, rising,
and in fact
it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing––
it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed
not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers,
and also the trees around them,
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds
in the perfect blue sky–––all of them
And, of course, so it seemed,
so was I.
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn’t last
For more than a few moments.
It’s one of those magical places wise people
like to talk about.
One of the things they say about it, that is true,
is that, once you’ve been there,
you’re there forever.
Listen, everyone has a chance.
Is it spring, is it morning?
Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then––open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song
may already be drifting away.
- Mary Oliver
Full of bright,
Swelling up with the promise
How will you sing the songs of springtime -
Alone in your human skin,
Or together, with the wild,
As a branch of existence; of energy,
In this tree of earthly life.