Spring Equinox

It’s time, I think to myself, to walk on the earth again, and feel it,
yes, actually feel the firm ground caress the soft soles of my feet.
The bristly new grass sprouts up with a bright boldness
that makes me want to cheer for the
simple proof of life after a season of death.

I squinch up my face as I step on the rough hickory hulls,
scattered like a wreath in tribute to my favorite tree, fallen.
My yard is barren, yet life springs forth and
I listen to the tiny gurgle of water that
emerges to the surface with a whisper of hope.

I pause and take in all the dead leaves that I never got around
to clearing, but they have served the flowers well,
tucking them to sleep as the earth lay frozen.
I don’t shame myself for that, though maybe for my absence
from simply being here in my yard, barefoot and awake.

The daffodils are waving like a golden flag alert,
shouting their joy in undeniable whoops.
They shoot up even in the cold dregs of February,
ambassadors of the spring, full of courage and enthusiasm
they taunt me to open my heart again.

Everywhere I look death and birth are coupled together,
a marriage of opposites, yet they seem to fit together as one.
Can I too live like this, balanced between light and dark,
holding both grief and joy in my cupped hands,
and living as though there is no beginning or end.

(Photo by Antonio Janeski on Unsplash)

Dear Reader,
I wrote this poem a year ago for Spring Equinox and I felt the call to revisit it. It was the most intense season of death for me, surviving the wreckage of a terrible hurricane and then the death of my partner. It was a winter of grief, and I held my breath, waiting for spring, for life to return; and it did. 🙏
May you also feel the renewal of Spring, offering gratitude for all that came before.
Warmly,
Laura