The First Day of Spring . . .
March 20 2024
. . . according to the calendar.
Which is supposed to be the beginning of things.
The world remade.
A fresh start.
So why don’t I feel reborn
in this season of rebirth?
Did anything really change
when the tilt of the earth
imperceptibly shifted,
the sun set
a few seconds later?
Yet somehow
a line was crossed, a page turned
and the date made it official.
As if astrology had it right all along,
and the planets and stars
really do determine our fate.
The crocuses know better.
They still lie dormant
under the snow
in the cozy warmth of mother earth.
Perhaps
when they push up into view
on some chilly day
in the bleak light of March
I too will feel renewed.
When the air is filled
with the earthy smell
of freshly thawed soil.
When the dead grass
resurrects itself
and I watch the world green.
When the first bloom appears,
and I begin to see
in colour again
instead of bleak to dark.
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