forsythia (and a treatise on spring)

forsythia (and a treatise on spring)

Photo by LExie Blessing on Pexels.com

forsythia,
my dear, my consort
cast out upon the land
a golden plume
a golden mane
the stirring locks of ostara herself
harbinger of spring
message received
for you are truly born of the stars
from your roots rise sunrise up upon this earth-
rejoice!
spring’s sweet songs do awaken.

for spring is a procession of progression
cherry blossoms bathe the path in white to lavender and all manners up to purple, urban planning has them lining the streets in rows like a royal parade celebrating victory over the great winter – for at least a time, and short lived they will fall like confetti littering the street on the day after, the daffodils, holding golden cups sky-upward ready to brim with the coming rains, those same rains will flatten them as they nourish the rest of the surely coming green flourish, the ramps, onion cousins, or maybe garlic uncles, no, more like tiny onions, their chive clump headdress pokes through looking like unruly fits of grass, spring onions – yes, they are known to check in with such a name in certain establishments, the arcs of forsythia, golden arches with no drive thru, inspired in such golden rod as to make midas blush, the mornings are filling with song and sun, Ostara winks as her womb births the dawn of hope, and so I do, spring is hope, hope is spring, and then the worn hot complacency of summer sets in, burns out all the green, and then the world must sleep once more to regain, to regenerate, to be born once again – better to enjoy this now, the colors, the procession, the daily progress of life bursting to be seen, yes, take in the scene.

upon Spring (and I mean listening to Vivaldi)…

upon Spring (and I mean listening to Vivaldi)…

white chrysanthemum flower on white surface
Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

joy! with joy!
the uplifting
the song of spring
played up on Vivaldi’s strings
the germination of possibility
a rebirthing machine
the seed shall touch
lead forth to harvest
then of joyous host
this is the entrance, the start
the promise of life
from a new born star

notes… I went back into my notes from last year and found this little thing, spring was certainly different last year, and I suppose this reflects that, I must admit it brings back the memory of the glory of spring, the feelings, they were so muted this year, they are slowly creeping back, with a mask of course, kind of dipping a toe in the pool before moving forward… it is easy to forget how in a short time all this will be behind us, it will.