A friend of mine said those words to me one spring and they certainly capture the feeling I have today as I look out at the fuzzy green tips appearing on the trees and shrubs in the garden. Every year I think it is the most beautiful spring I have ever seen. And every year I laugh at myself for thinking that. Then I read the following poem from the magazine, Sacred Fire and the idea came to me that my feeling was perhaps a universal feeling, deeply embedded in our human experience.
Every year, when everything that can go green does-
the sap makes it up my limbs as if I, too, were just
phloem and xylem.
And if some possibility of love walks by,
I gasp and spin leaves, blossoms, fruit-
I can’t help myself.
I’m ripe for the picking.
This used to embarrass me,
but now I see how it connects me
to everything else.
We all long for this,
but it takes the encouragement of the seasons
to push those of us who are more reluctant
over the edge.
Or to make us helpless,
so that we’ll fall into the world’s embrace
that much more easily.
Sacred Fire, issue three