I’m a sucker for pastoral poetry. Robert Frost, David Budbill, Wordsworth. I think it’s telling that Frost was born in California, but became a poet after moving to New England. I think strong seasonal changes stir things up in us. They frustrate and inspire. This spring is a particularly hard one, as we all sit inside staring out at Oregon growing more beautiful by the day. We can’t enjoy this spring to the fullness we otherwise would, but the changing seasons remind us that change itself is inevitable. Spring is wonderful because it is sudden and short. As we take in this brief moment from our yards and balconies it’s good to know that next spring holds the promise of some really fantastic park parties and patio drinks with friends. It’s ok to let this one be just for you.
The Shock of Green
I’m always surprised by the leaves.
The sudden appearance of them
Seemingly all at once,
Some random day in April.
The bare stone gray branches of March
Having exploded with every hue of green
Reminds me of an axiom:
All is impossible,
until it happens.