Awake by Rebecca Baggett

High in the oaks

birds squabble, sorting

this year’s housing.

From the edge of the wood

a crow interjects

its rasp and sputter,

like an old man

coughing, “Amen!”

from the back row

of the church.

Crocuses and daffodils

fling off brown quilts,

fluff out skirts the colors

of lavender blossoms

and fresh butter. The young

trees toss their pale green curls,

preen and flirt with the bold

March winds.

Even I feel it, the tug

of this true new year, as if

the sun drew my blood skyward,

as if I, too, might find myself

festooned with new leaves,

bursting into flower.

Awake

Sunday was spring equinox and though it may be awhile yet before it truly feels spring-like, one can sense the changing of seasons. So it seems both appropriate and necessary to welcome the freshness of earth’s shifting position to the sun. And of course, there is always a perfect poem to speak to this.

Baggett sings our ears awake with the squabble of birds sorting / this year’s housing and a crow’s raspy sputter like an old man / coughing “Amen!” The perennial flowers of spring appear, the colors of lavender blossoms and fresh butter to please our winter-monotoned eyes. She invites us to look for the pale green curls of trees in bud as they preen and flirt with the bold / March winds. Even if in this northern hemisphere we may lag behind a few weeks, we can dream of all this.

She speaks of this as the true new year, a time to renew and refresh ourselves, to ground ourselves in the beauty of the natural world especially when there is much to distract us from it, hurting our eyes and ears and hearts. She feels as if / the sun drew my blood skyward, reaching toward that warmth, as if she might, find myself / festooned with new leaves, / bursting into flower. May your heart expand with spring’s joy.