Thursday, June 20, 2013

Farewell to SPRING

                                                            Farewell to Spring

                                        Going Forward Slowly

                                     Solstice weakening Winter

                                     Let there be fires

                                     Naked dancing

                                     We can rejoice

                                     The heart of winter has been ripped out

                                     We will slowly bleed into life Spring                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

          When the vernal equinox was pregnant, I had this idea to interview Spring.  Now it's 57 degrees out and nothing even close to summer is on.  Rain and temperature has forced me by the fire--killer bread rising-- using whole soft white wheat and rye kernels--thinking of whole villages in medieval times going rave with visions from the ergot fungus in their rye.  I wonder what they thought of spring.  Easter and he has risen, eggs, rabbits, pagan fertility rites by witches around heaped-up  bonfires.

Paul said, " Frog madness noise searching for mates out there in the dark and that means time to stop bleeding the sugar maples."  Another said, "The pantheon of bulbs:  Crocus, daffodils, Spanish squill, chionodoxa."   I could never get enough or have  enough of them.  Maybe this explains my madness for bulbs.  "Optimism, after a dark winter."  "Hope!"  "The first ooh chartreuse leaves of Oemleria .  What is yours?  Tell me.  Comment!

My favorite ( which is not Spring)  was from my friend, Lloyd.  Not often do you find someone in this world that has the same distorted view of Spring, " is a season closer to the longest day of the year.  The corollary of this means the days are getting shorter and bare winter is a shadow on the sun.  Now, what do you think of Spring?  The bulbs are withered limp brown.  The leaves of the Indian plum are a non-stunning plain ole green.  Still got that optimism?  What dreams are molding from 90 days ago?

I remember 90 years ago it seems, when I was 19.  The world would be changed by me and you.  The tsunami force we thought we were has more than crested.  The cycle continues to spin.  The years that were beginnings continue going round and round like some old "Circle Game."  Stop and take inventory of dreams dreamt and realized and then count your blessings.  There is still time.  What I have learned from tending our garden is that Christ should not have said " the lilies of the field."  He should have said, " behold the poppies of the garden."  How the best, most vigorous effort was not necessary.  Never planted yet still the strongest kaleidoscope of blues, reds, and lavenders.

I have not been able to write because of Spring--you drive me into work frenzy.  Blame it on Spring.  The kids are gone.  I must blame my absence on someone besides laziness.  Planting and fearing psychotic rains, little creeks that should not be there at this time, rotting all of my seeds.  Fear not!  The corn will be knee high.  Tomatoes will be plump.  Have all of the expectations become empty?  No, we are waiting for the unripened fruits of Spring.  Are we always waiting for the next.  Perhaps winter is not villain.  Maybe it is time to redraw our plans for more Springs.

Can depression have any face in this?  What is it like to not hear the symphony of spring hope-thousands of frog bassoons  and it is only tinnitus in your soul?  Do you feel worse because you know you should rise to the ever present bully sound.  Pull myself out.

Yes, I am happy I survived Spring.  My fingers are to the bone.  Still, I am sitting back writing to you a day left in Spring.  I feel I need to continue Spring even tomorrow but especially now.

After 28 years and almost as many parties, we are taking a break (say new road$) but I can never forget our wedding that started our parties.  Beni Maiko is in her second flush.  I dedicate this poem to my beautiful wife, Marieke.

                                              28 Years

              From Amsterdam streets to bride

              From always lover to wife

              To know beyond doubt

              There is always that person

             Who has my back

             No matter how close the roiling seas
             Try to capsize our row boat

             All of the poems I have penned

             Add up to the most important words

              I love you David