Monday, April 15, 2013

season of wholeness


Spring is late, even snow
falls where he dug up
a dozen of last year’s 
potatoes, clusters of snow 
and potatoes nearly the same 
size and both deformed 
with nobs and bulges,
the ones falling fast and heavy,
the others huddled under
them near where they were dug,
like a small altar to winter
which saved them for this day
that is neither winter nor spring
that is perfectly falling
and hitting the mark
without expectation.



6 comments:

  1. Very nice! ". . . perfectly falling and hitting the mark without expectation" — a perfect metaphor for the best life we can hope for.

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    Replies
    1. Thanks, George. It is so so easy to have expectations for spring (that is unlike what is)!

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  2. we're so accustomed to compartmentalizing, aren't we? and i dare to guess this is a modern phenomena, a side effect to our desire for control (a side effect to our reaction against risk and mortality), but nature has her way and is whole.

    why are we such poor students?

    two weeks ago i dared to wear a t-shirt while out in the country. perhaps the day didn't really warrant it but i was eager. friday we had a snowstorm, over a foot of very heavy snow. today it will rain. what do we know? only what experience. we can impose nothing.

    i yearn for the ease of light clothes but even then i will mourn the loss of snow, be eager for the next winter always coming.

    xo
    erin

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  3. I was reading an article on tourism and then I read your post. Both made me think how large the US is. Here you are talking about how late your spring is and us, in Georgia, we never had any snow or ice this year and our trees have been in bloom for several weeks. The article was saying that France had the most tourists in 2012 – 79.5 millions and the US had 62.3 million – yes, but France is a little bit smaller than Texas, which is one state out of 50 for the US. Usually, apart from tourism, everything is always bigger here. (One of the reasons for less tourism I think is because of threat of violence.) It is a big country, with a variety of weather types. We went to a state park for 4 days last week and it was between 75 and 82 F, sunny and dry. I can imagine that if you lived in Georgia, your poem would be different – no poor gnarly potatoes but beautiful adjectives on the azalea colors, no?

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  4. This reminds me of "If you can't beat 'em, join them," Ruth. :) I love the feel of acquiescence to this. What else can we do?

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  5. Those last four lines are perfection.

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All responses are welcome.