Now and then it keeps you running
It never seems to die
The trial's spent with fear
Not enough living on the outside
Never seem to get far enough
Staying in between the lines
Hold on what you can
Waiting for the end not knowing when
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| Backyard crocuses, 2013 |
Today marks the last day of the darkest 6 weeks of the year in these parts.
Tomorrow will bring us back to November light.
And Imbolc will be just 3 weeks away.
Under the frozen earth the crocuses next to the old bare oak tree are starting to stir. Chromosomes are replicating, cells dividing, tough spears forming, getting ready to pierce their way to the sunlight.
Not sure they know why they go through all the fuss, not likely a question they they ask, pretty sure the answer wouldn't matter to them anyway.
But they at least know where they're going.
Even if we could decipher the language of plants, we could not grasp their answer to such a question.
It won't involve money or fame or power or self-esteem.
The point may seem without value in a culture that does not value living.
Hard to commodify the thoughts of a flower.
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4 comments:
I'm reminded when I read this of the musical composition, Soil Festivities by Vangelis.
Here is a link to the 1st movement.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UYj2QIg5rFs
A lovely piece, Michael.
Dear Mary Ann,
Thanks for that--in my limited cultural world, I had never heard that (or even of that) before today.
Watching the radiometer in my classroom window brings me closer to the plants outside it. Being aware of the sunlight in such a tangible way is eye opening for me. (During the dark days of winter it's also a bit depressing but on those days when it spins and spins I feel such hope.)
Dear Jenny,
My radiometer has given me more warmth and hope than just about any homily I've ever heard.
The slow, steady turns on the dark wintry mornings remind me that even when it seems impossible, some of the life of sunlight is eeking through.
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