shadow of spring 

In the first place,
dates aren't solid.
One March 20 is not another March 20,
though all are the vernal equinox
somewhere.

A calendar can only take us so far.
A map as well.

There’s data,
and then there’s experience,
experience of Spring in a place –
in a garden, in a town, in a woods or desert –
and a certain green or mud or birdsong
that signals awakening, something oozing life and lush,
something tinkling like a bell in the distance.

You've been asleep, a cozy safe sleep
with dreams that feel so real, so layered,
like memories of places you’ve never been 
except in dreams, and you are dozy and soft,
lyrical and fluid.

And then, some light, some warmth,
something standing over you,
a comfort or a menace, it's unclear,
and you wake up,
and you don't know if it's morning or evening,
you don't know where you are on the continuum,
and that feels like a place to delve, to dig, to sink a shovel.

You want to sleep, and dream,
but time is moving, you can feel it,
and you are in a place
where you feel moved by time,
though you are quite still.
You feel called forth by the light,
the warmth, the energy of sun and soil,
you know you must open your winter eyes
and take in this new world
about to come round. 

© MMWms 2015/2020

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