It’s been a long, long (long) winter here in the Midwest. The snow started coming at the beginning of November and never stopped coming until 10 days ago. Yesterday morning, like it has been nearly every morning for the past five months, my neighbor’s roof was covered in frost. But today is different. Today it’s spring. Today the sun is out and the air is warm. The runners are running in shorts and the first crocuses of the year are poking their yellow heads through last fall’s leaves in my garden. Today the storm windows came down.
And so with the spring air blowing through the house, pushing out the cruft of a long winter (and because it’s national poetry month). here is a remarkable poem from the very remarkable Mary Oliver (with a thanks to Shannon who shared this with me six years ago):
The Leaf and the Cloud: A Poem
– Mary Oliver
I rose this morning early as usual, and went to my desk.
But it’s spring,
and the thrush is in the woods,
somewhere in the twirled branches, and he is singing.
And so, now, I am standing by the open door.
And now I am stepping down into the grass.
I am touching a few leaves.
I am noticing the way the yellow butterflies
move together, in a twinkling cloud, over the field.
And I am thinking: maybe just looking and listening
is the real work.
Maybe the world, without us,
is the real poem.