Springtime At Last

Oh, those special signs of spring!!! How I love them; let me count the ways. A friend of mine once told me that I get so much joy from nature that it must truly be part of my spirituality. I agree. Nothing is more wonderful to me than a walk in the woods or a stroll around our farm, listening to the noises of nature or watching a bird build its nest which a Robin did last spring right outside my bathroom window, where I could watch him create it, twig by twig, stick by stick and branch by branch. What an incredible process to witness. An aside to this; I just saw a cartoon in the New Yorker where the mother bird is saying to Papa Bird as he is placing another piece of straw on the nest, "No, not there; put it over here." Hmmmm, even female birds may have that sense of design and decorating. Oh course, we know they don't; but wait, do we really know that??? Anyway, spring has once again come to the meadow outside my kitchen window and it does put an extra energetic step into my life. In celebration, I would like to share a poem I wrote another year at this same time called, SPRING AT LAST

SPRING AT LAST

Four long winter months have passed
Fourteen frigid weeks
One hundred twenty days
And now,
Out my kitchen window
Too long absent from my eye
Spring has come at last
Showing its face
And taking its spring-time place
In my backyard

No longer need I linger
lazily on my couch
Wrapped in blankets
to silence the chill
Thinking of this season to come
And anticipating its spring-time thrill

Soon I will go outside and lie down
on the tufts of soft green grass
beneath the oaks and sycamores
And see their buds appearing
And look upon a bring blue sky

And beyond my sights
In far distant fields
Where there are still patches
of winter snow
Just now, beginning to go
Spring-time is coming to the meadow too

Wrens and robins begin to sing
Their new season song
And call along
To other waking creatures of the fields
And from tree to tree
I see
A robin, a dove, a chickadee
Alight in the warm brignt sun
Male chasing female
Displaying bright bulging breasts
Enticing the females to their nests
To begin a family
In this heightened season of the senses
A time not to be alone

The rabbits too, shake their tails
And hale a new day dawning
Another season in which to romp
And stomp their rabbit feet

And now, I myself will go
Wherever nature leads my senses
Whirling winds
Animal movements
Woods running wild
Sunsets setting
Wherever cosmic energy leads me

And before it is over
I will wish that I could paint
And put upon a canvas
The colors and the forms
The emotions and the joys
That this season brings

For when melancholy moments
Come again in December
I will want to remember
All that this season has awakened in me
And the memory will serve me well.

Ah, another St. Paddy's Day come and gone. I have so many wonderful memories of this day during my growing up years. We were the Conlan family who had a direct link to the Irish Isle. My father's great grandparents came from Ireland, and like so many immigrants from that country, made their way slowly into the melting pot of America. Being Margretta Marie O'Conlan, (the clan dropped the O' after arriving in America as no Irishman wanted to "stand out." )I had a lot of heritage to celebrate, along with my six brothers and sisters, my closest sister being named Maureen. The Irish had their "troubles" here in America like all immigrants, and worked hard in menial tasks to make a living and establish themselves. How often I fail to think about the sacrifices and courage it took to do what they did, representing the basis for the sacrifices each generation had to make to get me to where I am today. And my father's great grandfather had courage indeed. He was in serious danger for teaching catholic doctrine along the hedgerows in Ireland where children came to learn in a very perilous environment. The British would not allow it, and so night after night, Dad's great grandfather would sneak out from his cottage and meet with those wanting to hear the Catholic word of God. For sure, he was afraid, but he did it anyway. One day, word came to him that he had been found out, and in grave danger. He fled, and hid in a ship going to America promising to bring his family over when he could, which he eventually did. When I was a little girl, wearing the green carnation my dad bought for his daughters each St. Paddy's Day, and the green ribbons I wore in my hair, I had no idea how deep went the roots and emotions of those who touched the lives of those brave immigrants starting over in a new land. Today, I do more than listen to Irish music and eat corn beef and cabbage. Every St. Paddy's Day I now take out the book written about my Conlan Irish heritage, look at all the pictures and faces of those who went before me, and say Thank You.

The Sea

As I sit looking out at the ocean today, thinking about my upcoming 70th birthday, I can't help but think of the poem, Ulysses by Alfred Lord Tennyson. In the last several verses, Ulysses turns to his seafaring crew and says something like this, " We are growing old men, but I think we have one more good sail in us." And then to quote, "I will sail beyond the sunset and the baths of all the western stars until I die." In ending the poem, he says that it is his intention, "to strive, to seek, to find and not to yield." The author is suggesting, I think, that we go on, no matter our age, to continue to fight the good fight until the end. I like this advice and will continue on as long as my body and spirit are able and willing. And as I see a few shells on the beach, I am also reminded of Anne Morrow Lindbergh who wrote, Gifts from the Sea where she, in each individual chapter, meditates on youth and age, love and marriage, peace, solitude and contentment. She uses specific shells as metaphors of life beginning with the channeled whelk as a confining, duty-bound place that she is free from for a short time while at the beach. A respite from the every day obligations in the city where she lives. The moonshell represents solitude for her, a place and time we all crave in our very noisy Then comes the double-sunrise that is two shells joined together as one, but each maintaining its own identity and uniqueness.(marriage?) The oyster bed shell is a metaphor for moving on in life, getting out of our comfort zones to stretch ourselves and perhaps share our unique gifts with the world. In all of this, AML is searching for a simpler life, inner integrity and fuller relationships.
The ocean presents its own feelings of melancholy and solitude for me too, and like Ted Kennedy who always looked to the sea for comfort after each of his life tragedies, I too find a wonder and peacefulness in the sea.