Springing into Spring Time

Detail of Irises (1889) by Vincent van Gogh


A Prayer in Spring
(By Robert Frost)

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfil.


Finally, we've made our way past winter, my least favorite season. The cold, the gloom, the lack of flowers, these all drag on me, weighing down my spirit. Writing helps alleviate the heaviness, but I hate the inefficiencies that nag at all my projects.

If I keep on blogging for a series of years, you'll recognize the seasonal pattern. But Spring is finally here!!! And I'm ready to have some fun! ;-)

Detail of Spring (1896) by Alphonse Mucha

So, let's listen to some music.

Winter

Winter (1755) by Jean-Honore Fragonard


A new season begins, Winter, my least favorite time of the year.

The holidays are rarely "happy" for me. I'm not prone to depression, but late December and early January do bring on some spiritual doldrums. Maybe it's the light. Maybe it's the cold. All I know is that it takes a whole lot of eggnog to bring me some seasonal cheer. ;-)

And the flowers are so few. The bounty of color that I wish to see in the gardens is muted, with only a handful of hardy floral gems on view. But, at least, I still have art and music.

Detail of Winter (1896) by Alphonse Mucha

One way in which I deal with the Winter Gloom is by staying busy. I often overpack my schedule, visiting museums, gardens, galleries, performances, lectures, and any activity that will keep my mind from straying into the shadows. Yeah, it's a form of escapism, but it does the job. By early February, I can feel my spirit lifting up, anticipating the beauties of Spring, just about fifty days away.

friday flowers: iris

blue iris at the madrona marsh


IX (from sonnets - unrealities)
(by e.e. cummings)

this is the garden:colours come and go,
frail azures fluttering from night's outer wing
strong silent greens serenely lingering,
absolute lights like baths of golden snow.
This is the garden:pursed lips do blow
upon cool flutes within wide glooms, and sing
(of harps celestial to the quivering string)
invisible faces hauntingly and slow.

This is the garden.     Time shall surely reap
and on Death's blade lie many a flower curled,
in other lands where other songs be sung;
yet stand They here enraptured,as among
the slow deep trees perpetual of sleep
some silver-fingered fountain steals the world.



today we celebrate the birth date of e.e. cummings, born in 1894. yeah, i know that cummings wasn't against the use of proper capitalization. i'm just in a playful mood. ;-)

white iris at the madrona marsh

but why irises? well, i could come up with some mumbo-jumbo about the iris symbolizing "messengers" and the role of the poet as a type of messenger, but actually it has no reason beyond my whimsy. i wanted to attend a lecture on irises yesterday, but time and travel constraints vetoed the plan. so i dug through my flower photo collection and dug out some irises as a salve to my frustrated desire.

i turn to the treasures of "an angel named imagination."