Spring Vigil: March 21, 2018

I am told the flat earth
under our feet is actually
a stupendous sphere of mud
with molten core that hurtles
through unthinkable space
while tracing an indispensible
orbit around an exploding sun.

And that the precise tilt of
our precious muddy marble
cooperates with imperceptibly
wild speed and grave rotation
to cause the four seasons
that course through my blood.

I am waiting. I am waiting.

All calculations concur
that it has already come,
but my daffodil shoots are still
buried under last week’s snow
with more on the way tonight.

So much for trusting the authorities.

Measuring Life

I forgot yesterday
was the first day
of March. I’m
always behind
on things like that—
these necessary labels
we use to locate
the familiar fluctuations
of light and dark—
as if we could
measure our lives
in small chunks
of change and thus
control the whole.

Surprising Spring

The morning light comes early today—not yet six thirty and yet I am enticed by the brightness to step outside while the kettle heats the water for my tea. The soft, moist air welcomes me as I briefly wave my arms to circulate my sleepy blood and rouse my hidden chi.   Being somewhat modest and mindful of the passing cars determined for work, I modestly hide myself around the side of the Temple so as not to be a wayward influence.

And there, there they are. The sheltered daffodils on the southern-facing slope are lustily poking their green selves skyward. They are too early, snow will certainly come to test their resolve, but for now I shake my head in admiration and go back inside to make my tea and begin this day.