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There are buds in my garden, peeking out from under the blackened blankets of moldy leaves. The ground is completely sodden, spongey with rain, and the grass is still last year's yellow leftovers. Puddles reflect the sound of running water; through the ditches, into the drains, it teases the ear. There is a lightness to the days now, beyond the cloud cover and shining through it. Every year, this miracle. Every year, this return to green and light and renewal. I'm watching the trees with a sharpened eye, hoping to see spring burst, from brown to green. When I went looking for poetry in my files and my notebooks and my envelopes and folders of treasure, I kept being brought up short by words about spring. Here are 2 of my favorites. The first is by a woman who was in a college writing class with me. I have several of her poems written down but no idea what's happened to her, and she doesn't come up on Google with her maiden name. The second one is by my other favorite May (an appropriate name for Spring!).

Happy Birthday
by Cathy Kirchgessner

I stand barefoot in the rain
licking chocolate cake batter
from a rubber spatula
I didn't take time to set down.
I ran from the kitchen
fast and far into the rain,
from dryness and thirst
to wet, to here!
I am here!
With spiders and cherries
and thunder and sparrows.
I flip flop on flooded grass,
slide slick as grease
in squirmy, wormy soup.
I sing to this world,
pet her, let her know
there is happy.
I will bake her a cake,
whip it at her rocks,
throw it to her sky,
spread it gently
on her velvet, violet petals.


by May Sarton

Always it happens when we are not there—
The tree leaps up alive into the air,
Small open parasols of Chinese green
Wave on each twig. But who has ever seen
The latch sprung, the bud as it burst?
Spring always manages to get there first.

Lovers of wind, who will have been aware
Of a faint stirring in the empty air,
Look up one day through a dissolving screen
To find no star, but this multiplied green,
Shadow on shadow, singing sweet and clear.
Listen, lovers of wind, the leaves are here!
mood: happy
music: Lisa Miskovsky—Sing to Me


may sarton was great. and i'm inspired to try and find the other one... thank you!
-bee at

Both lovely, but that first poem...ooh, love! It even makes me feel a bit better about the rain that drenched me to the bone on my bike ride home this afternoon.


Lovely. I wonder if the woman from your class is still writing.


I don't know. I hope so, she was really gifted. Maybe someday she'll google herself and see this and let me know :)

From rosey daze~

Here's another Mary Oliver for you. It's one of my old favorites, about summer, but somehow seemed appropriate:

The Roses

One day in summer
when everything
has already been more than enough
the wild beds start
exploding open along the berm
of the sea:day after day
the honey keeps on coming
in the red cups and the bees
like amber drops roll
in the petals: there is no end,
believe me! to the inventions of summer,
to th happiness your body
is willing to bear.

Re: From rosey daze~

She never fails, does she? Sublime! :)

Re: From rosey daze~

never! This one was especially favorite years ago as I was smitten with one of the loves of my life.

btw, LOVED the one by your former classmate. Like the others said, the imagery is very special and thought provoking.


the imagery of rain and cake batter...fantastic.
and this may sarton poem - how she captured that image of the sudden burst of spring. how one day you notice the leaves appear!
thank you for sharing these two today!
liz elayne

The second poem--she captures that magic of spring so aptly. Every single year I think, "when did it happen?" This year, maybe because I've been home more, or maybe because winter lasts longer here, or maybe because of maple syrup making, I've had my eye on spring for a while. I saw the first purple and yellow crocus buds, still wrapped in a cocoon of green push through the snow. Every day I've been watching the trees: the maples are blossoming. The buds swelling. And yet I know I'll miss the exact moment when spring SPRINGS!

I think part of the fun is watching for it and trying to catch that moment, even though it's impossible! It ALWAYS happens when you blink!

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I can complain because rose bushes have thorns or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.

Abraham Lincoln

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