Spring just makes me want to grab hold of life with both hands. To sit in the sun and absorb the warmth with all my being and, yet, to say a lingering goodbye to the waves of icy air that are still flowing from the patches of ice marooned in the woods. I am restless, not least of all because I am in the process of leaving my lay ministry job and embarking before long on my paddling trip.
Poetry is new for me, but today’s just seemed to write itself:
It Doesn’t Take Much
It doesn’t take much, this time of year, to lift a tired heart.
Just a quiet hour to roam the woods, to wander with springtime dreams.
Rubber-clad feet sink deep in the mud, but at least it isn’t ice.
No slippery, sliding, breath-taking suspense to see if you’ll stay upright.
Just a cushion, a carpet of softest duff, welcoming, moist and brown.
It doesn’t take much this time of year, to feel the throb of life.
A barred owl calls in the height of day…”Who cooks for you?” he asks.
Then comes a sound to drown out them all, a chorus of horrid croaks.
“What species is this?” you want to know, so stealthily you sneak near.
Quietly perch near a murky black pool that gradually comes to life,
With tens or hundreds of busy gray frogs in a noisy springtime dance.
It doesn’t take much, this time of year, to find beauty at every turn.
No need for a violet, a lupine, or rose… a humble skunk cabbage will do.
Squat down to look closely as the new plant unfurls,
And you’ll be amazed what you’ll see.
Bright shiny purples and pale mottled greens have a beauty all their own.
No, it doesn’t take much this time of year, for hope to spring anew.