Thursday, October 1, 2015

Another Spring

Acorn and oak leaves by Ginette Callaway

Fall has decidedly arrived with it's requisite rustling of leaves and tinge of wood smoke in the air. 
Having awoken early, I've crept through the house like a thief in an attempt to only steal a few minutes alone; so far I've been successful.

Bundled in a quilt, appropriated from the sofa, I've taken my post on the wide front porch of my childhood home.  Across the field, the little birds on the power lines have been my sole companions. They are ever so polite not disturbing my train of thought.  The distance allows me to only make out their dark shape and I soon start to imagine them as musical notes upon a staff; they await the musically gifted to call forth their song.
 It appears only the largest dare to be an F, while the E and G lines are rather heavy.  Unfortunately, before I can get a sense of the tune, a few fly away and another joins.  The tune constantly changes.

Perhaps this is a mere representation of life?  As one of us flies away, flies home, the song and it's rhythm, if you will, is forever changed.  We are only left with the memory, a wisp of a beloved tune, floating about our heads and buried within our hearts.

Our song, my family's song, has changed.  My daddy died.  It still feels strange to daddy died.  My head knows, but my heart continues to cry out, "No!" Having left the hospital a week earlier, with the intent of settling in and watching the grass turn green, Daddy simply slipped away one cold, dreary March morning.
He would be denied another spring.

Dear friends,
     I share our loss with you as explanation of my long absence. I am find that as my mind captures all of this autumnal beauty, my heart remains in spring. As time passes, I pray a sense of normalcy will return and I will feel the desire to do those things that once brought me pleasure --- visiting with you.  Little by little the fog of grief is lifting and the music is continuing; lovely music that has an echo of the former tune, but, also, a magic all it's own.

If I might see another Spring
   I'd not plant summer flowers and wait;
I'd have my crocuses at once,
My leafless pink mezereons,
  My chill-veined snowdrops, choicer yet
  My white or azure violet,
Leaf-nested primrose; anything
  To blow at once, not late.

If I might see another Spring
  I'd listen to the daylight birds
That build their nests and pair and sing,
Nor wait for mateless nightingale;
  I'd listen to the lusty herds,
  The ewes with lambs as white as snow,
I'd find out music in the hail
  And all the winds that blow.

If I might see another Spring --
  Oh stinging comment on my past
That all my past results in 'if'' --
  If I might see another Spring
I'd laugh to-day, to-day is brief;
I would not wait for anything:
  I'd use to-day that cannot last,
  Be glad to-day and sing.

          Another Spring ~ Christina Rossetti


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