Proclamation
at a Birth
Linda
Pastan
for Anna
Let
every tree
burst
into blossom
whatever
the season.
Let
the snow melt
mild
as milk
and
the new rain wash
the
gutters clean
of
last year's
prophecies.
Let
the guns sweep out
their
chambers
and
the criminals doze
dreaming
themselves
back
to infancy.
Let
the sailors throw
their
crisp white caps
as
high as they can
which
like so many doves
will
return to the ark
with
lilacs.
Let
the frogs turn
into
princes,
the
princes to frogs.
Let
the madrigals,
let
the musical croakings
begin.
Over
and over again, the bumble bee keeps thudding against the glass windows in my
office. I turn to see a deer leisurely crossing the lush green landscape. The
sky is blue, so very blue. Take a deep breath – the air is fresh, clean. You
can’t help but recognize this as nature’s adolescence, the days of the year
when things grow at breakneck speed, procreate, store up reserves, revel in the
simple privilege of existence in this global home.
All
of us, including the dog and cat, can’t get enough of the sun. We are soaking
up the goodness, quenching the thirst of our souls with its life-giving energy.
Paradise found. No need to search for answers. Reasoning gives way to an
unspoken understanding of life-affirming praise. I feel rooted to this place,
to every cell pulsing here, to its gifts of unspoken grace so oft overlooked
and acutely denied.
I
have been engaged in many forms of making both inside and out – in the kitchen,
at the keyboard, on my knees sunk in moist soil. These may be offerings,
blessings uttered to ease the pain of a hurting world. These may be creations, small
and meager in the midst of a crisis such as this, and yet gifts of my best
intentions. These may be revelations to my soul, reminders to return to what it
knows best – feeding, nurturing, expressing a few true words. What else can be
done on a day such as this?
I
desire nothing less than to offer you the alms of connection to the earth like
the finest threads of the spider’s web blowing in the breeze this morning,
perfectly constructed between beam and branch, splendor of note to us all. So,
too, the blooming yeast, the turn of phrase both concise and clear, the
sprouted seed. Let’s remember the glory of this day with humility, revel in
every single minute, and know completely that goodness returns after the
sacrifice, after the sleeves are rolled up and the hard work begun, after
spring has sung its song deep into the night.
