Because the light says so

You Must Believe in Spring
Jan Zwicky

Because it is the garden.  What is left to us.
Because silence is not silence without sound
Because you have let the cat out, and then in, and then out,
           and then in, and then out, and then in, and then
           out, and then in, and then out, and then in,
           enough.
Because otherwise their precision at the blue line would
           mean nothing.
Because otherwise death would mean nothing.
Because the light says so,
Because a human being can gladly eat only so much cabbage.
Because the pockets of your overcoat need mending.
Because it's easy not to.
Because your sweaters smell.
Because Gregory of Nazianzen said geometry has no place in
           mourning, by which he meant despair presumes too
           much.
Because it ain't over 'til it's over. - Hank Aaron, Jackie
           Robinson. Satchel Paige.
Because Kant was wrong, and Socrates, Descartes and all the 
           rest.  Because it is the body thinking and Newt 
           Gingrich would like you not to.
Because I love you.  Or you love someone.  Because someone
           is loved.
Because under the sun, everything is new.
Because the wet snow in the tress is clotted light.
Because in 1941 it took six cords of wood to get through a
           winter in one room at Harvard and two-thirds
           of Main used to be open country as a result.
Because sleeping is not death.
Because although an asshole was practising his Elvis Presley
           imitation, full voice, Sunday morning, April 23rd
           at Spectacle Lake Provincial Park, the winter wren
           simply moved 200 yards down the trail.
Because the wren's voice is moss in sunlight, because it is
           a stream in sunlight over stones.
Because Beethoven titled the sonata.
I mean: would Bill Evans and Frank Morgan lie to you?
Because even sorrow has a source.
For, though it cannot fly, the heart is an excellent clamberer.


I know this post is a little out of season since (fingers-crossed) summer seems to be underway in this part of the world. However, the lilac bush at my parents' house never blooms when it ought to. All of the other lilac bushes are blooming like mad, perfuming the air and displaying their frothy purple blooms, but not this one. It's still just barely budding. And it will patiently wait until the other bushes have faded. Only then will it burst forth in a jubilant celebration of a season that is long gone. There is something about this that delights me.

This poem by Jan Zwicky also delights me. This idea that the light demands a belief in spring resonates with me. Light is such an integral part of how I think of the seasons. It, more than the often wacky weather, dictates when the season has begun to change.

Oddball

Even though she knew it was probably a sign of insanity to begin identifying with inanimate objects, she couldn't help but feel that the strange little bud she had come across was the perfect image for her life. This tiny, alien-looking thing somehow seemed to encapsulate her life in that moment. Odd colours, a strange shape, hard, almost harsh, confusing and seemingly impenetrable. Yes, that described her life. Especially the weirdness of it. Her life wasn't sitting with her as if it were her own. It was like one day she woke up and walked into someone else's life. Sure, it resembled her's, but it felt odd. Like a new shirt that didn't fit quite right. Actually, more like wearing someone else's clothes: completely unfamiliar. She knew they were clothes, and she knew she had worn clothes before, and yet there was something strange about these particular clothes. It was like the bud. She knew it was a flower bud, and she had seen flower buds before, it was just this particular bud that was so different that she didn't quite know what to do with it. And yet this oddball creation that was silently confronting her was beautiful in a striking way. Full of potential. Perhaps that was what made it so beautiful, not the shape that it was currently in, but the shape that it would become. Perhaps that was where the beauty in her life could also be found, not in the strange, unfamiliar, cumbersome shape it had taken on recently, but in the potential for what that shape would become.

Something's Coming

Something's Coming

from West Side Story

Could be

Who knows?

There's something due any day;

I will know right away,

Soon as it shows.

It may come cannonballing down through the sky,

Gleam in its eye,

Bright as a rose!

Who knows?

It's only just out of reach,

Down the block, on a beach,

Under a tree.

I got a feeling there's a miracle due,

Gonna come true,

Coming to me!

Could it be? Yes, it could.

Something's coming, something good,

If I can wait!

Something's coming, I don't know what it is,

But it is

Gonna be great!

With a click, with a shock,

Phone'll jingle, door'll knock,

Open the latch!

Something's coming, don't know when, but it's soon;

Catch the moon,

One-handed catch!

Around the corner,

Or whistling down the river,

Come on, deliver

To me!

Will it be? Yes, it will.

Maybe just by holding still,

It'll be there!

Come on, something, come on in, don't be shy,

Meet a guy,

Pull up a chair!

The air is humming,

And something great is coming!

Who knows?

It's only just out of reach,

Down the block, on a beach,

Maybe tonight...

I finally talked to Audrey a bit today. It was just a few text messages back and forth, but I've been missing her something fierce lately so it was good to hear from her. Plus, somehow, regardless of the physical distance between us, we always seem to be going through similar places emotionally. It's actually kind of eerie if you think about it too long, but it is one of the things that I value most about our friendship. No matter what I say to her she will understand. She never tells me I'm crazy. She always simply understands and relates. It's a good feeling to be that throughly understood by someone. We were talking about how we both have this sense heading into the new year that something fabulous is going to happen. We have no idea what, but there is just a sense that something is going to happen. It's nice. It's exciting. It's a good change from my typically not-so-sunshiney approach to the new year. And yet... There is something frustrating about this feeling. If I could just figure out what it was that was going to happen I could anticipate it. Or, if it would just happen already then maybe the whole year could be fantastic, feeding off of this one event. I'm feeling a bit like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff. With school coming to an end this is a very real sensation in many ways. I just don't know what is coming next. And even though I have the sense that it is going to be good, I am terrified out of my mind.

Audrey explained this feeling of anticipation by referring to this song from West Side Story. Now, you should know that she and I are both musical theatre junkies. I'm seriously addicted to the stuff. Anyway, it was exactly what I needed. It reminds me a bit of the magical, exciting, anticipatory side of this experience, rather than the dark, scary, looming doom side of it. Plus, I think this provides a nice counterpoint to yesterday's slightly less hopeful (although no less truthful) post.

Beautiful Weekend

The weather this weekend was completely gorgeous. I got to soak up some sun while sitting outside reading poetry and writing letters. It was kind of an English geeky weekend, but lovely nonetheless.

I actually took this picture a couple weeks ago, just when the buds on the rose bush were starting to show up. I liked how they looked. It seems almost suprising that a flower can show up out of that. But they certainly have their own beauty about them.

Spring in Unexpected Places

I love being suprised by nature. You know, those moments where you spot something beautiful or unique where you weren't expecting it. I love that. I always think of evergreens as very wintery trees. I think this is because winter is so long here and that is really the only time of year I pay attention to them. Yesterday while I was wandering around the garden though I noticed the buds on the trees out front of our house are starting to appear. I used to love pulling the brown, papery bits off when I was younger. I always thought that I was freeing the pretty little green needles, which are suprisingly soft. After I pulled the paper off I would always run them through my fingers. Hopefully this didn't kill a whole bunch of evergreen buds...that would be unfortunate. Anyway, yesterday the buds just kind of suprised me so I took some pictures of them. I love the contrast between the soft, baby buds and the prickly older needles and the dead, brittle needles. I upped the color saturation in the photo to really make this contrast stand out. I think this officially means that it is spring/summer. If the wintery trees have decided to bud, I'm going to take that as a good sign.