Spring is in the air—we can feel it with the changing of the clocks, the warmer temperatures and the blooming of plants. I recently read the poem “Spring”, by Mary Oliver which goes:
“And here is the serpent again,/ dragging himself out from his nest of darkness,/ his cave under the black rocks,/ his winter-death./ He slides over the pine needles./ He loops around the bunches of rising grass,/ looking for the sun.
Well, who doesn’t want the sun after the long winter?/ I step aside,/ he feels the air with his soft tongue,/ around the bones of his body he moves like oil,
Downhill he goes/ toward the black mirrors of the pond./ Last night it was still so cold/ I woke and went out to stand in the yard,/ and there was no moon.
So I just stood there, inside the jaw of nothing./ An owl cried in the distance,/ I thought of Jesus, how he/ crouched in the dark for two nights,/ then floated back above the horizon.
There are so many stories/ more beautiful than answers./ I follow the snake down to the pond,
Thick and musky he is/ as circular as hope.”
Each time spring comes around, I experience it as a child, with wonder and awe at the blossoming of new life, the hope of new creation, and the promise to experience it all over again next year.