Whether you believe in the resurrection of Jesus or not, there’s no denying that Spring is a time of renewal and new beginnings—deciduous trees bud, flowers bloom, and we clean out the cobwebs after a long winter. I find it interesting that we make resolutions at the dawn of the New Year—in the dead of winter. For me, Spring just seems more appropriate.
In thinking about Spring and Easter and new beginnings, I was reminded of this poem, written—oddly—in the Fall of 2000, when everything is hibernating or dying and Winter is on a ship in the Atlantic, bound for North America. Everything must die in order to be born again I suppose.
For me, this poem is about renewal, about a reawakening of the soul, about the rebirth of purpose. It seems wholly appropriate to share it on Easter.
I stood on the ridge, watching.
The sun, the color of an apricot,
Two days too ripe, casts a warm dusty
Glow, orange, on the plowed waiting fields.
As it slips behind mountains, brown and nubby,
Like cashmere sweaters thrown in heaps on the ground.
The sun draws the blanket of night behind
From the East, comforting and dark and soft,
Sprinkled with stars, shimmering and glittering.
Night sinks down to touch the ground,
Soothes the frazzled city with a gentle hand,
Inviting the weary to sleep, to dream
To awake refreshed to the morning sun,
Light yellow and clean, pushing away the dark night,
Reluctant to retire, to welcome a new day.
Fresh possibilities await, like undeveloped film.
The ground is yet damp with dew.
Everything is pristine and renewed, Eden on the First Day.
I stood on the ridge, wondering.
I gathered things around me, those I had found useful –
Courage, hope, strength – for the journey.
I drew a deep breath of morning,
Savoring the crisp air, hesitating,
For a long moment, considering, deciding, intrigued.
The moment past, I stepped down into the valley.
If I am to be the mistress of my destiny, I decided we should meet.
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