…What we long for: joy before death…
…What we know: we are more than blood — we are more than our hunger…
— from “Blossom” by Mary Oliver
24 For “All flesh is like grass and all its glory like the flower of grass. The grass withers, and the flower falls, 25 but the word of the Lord endures forever.” That word is the good news that was announced to you.
— 1 Peter 1:24-25
The wood is decked in light green leaf.
The swallow twitters in delight.
The lonely vine sheds joyous tears
Of interwoven dew and light.
— from “Spring” by Ilia Chavchavadze
Today was the first time I’ve been out in the woods since I tried to make a go of it about a month ago (I had to turn back last time because it was just too muddy). Words, and even these pictures, cannot truly convey the way in which the woods is simply aglow with new green leaves. After I dropped Zane off at preschool, I decided to take a walk around the pond by myself. I am so glad that I did because it was exactly the right moment in time to see the wakerobins,Trillium, in bloom — they are the gorgeous three-petaled red flowers below. My goodness, they are beautiful! (But, don’t pick them because picking even parts of the plant can kill it, and in some places picking them is illegal.) I also saw a rose-breasted grosbeak, some trout lillies,Erythronium, and some wild oats,Uvularia sessilifolia. On top of all of that, the morning light was just amazing. The whole experience made me want to sing the Doxology at the top of my lungs, though the local wildlife might have found that a bit overwhelming so I just hummed it quietly to myself instead.
Even the prick of the thistle,
queen of the weeds, revives
your secret belief
in perpetual spring,
your faith that for every hurt
there is a leaf to cure it.
— from “In Perpetual Spring” by Amy Gerstler
Because I love the world
I think of grass,
I think of leaves
and the bold sun…
– – –
Teacher, what do you mean?
But faith is still there, and silent.
– – –
And who else could this be, who goes off
down the green path,
carrying His sandals, and singing?
— from “Spring” by Mary Oliver
(you should really read the whole poem; it’s wonderful)
I wonder if the sap is stirring yet,
If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate,
If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun
And crocus fires are kindling one by one:
Sing robin, sing:
I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.
— Christina Rossetti
