When the sun is out, the prettiest yellow-green light of spring floods into the living room and fills the space. Green, the color of renewal and rebirth, as well as the color of the heart chakra. No wonder it feels so good. There are two hungry chicks, hatched in the nest, and very busy Mom and Dad robins. They take turns feeding, hopping from the green aspen tree over to the iron railing, and then swooping up into the nest. I love watching how after the feeding session, the robin wiggles its fat body down into the nest, to keep everybody warm. All of this is taking place under the watchful eyes of our two kitties who have taken up summer residence already on the wicker chairs and cushions out on the porch. Every morning, there is a feather or two lying on the door mat, from some bird who met its demise, and I hold my breath it’s not one of the parents. We’ve come so far already.
This morning, it’s the soft, still gray of incoming rain. On my run, the robins were singing louder than usual, no doubt in excitement for the worms soon to be lying about. It’s a great day for laundry and household chores, and randomly picking up a poetry book to see what I might re-discover. I have a new novel to start, maybe by a warm fire this afternoon, whilst listening to the rain. “My oh my…don’t these greens taste good.”
Out walking in the swamp picking cowslip, marsh marigold,
this sweet first green of spring. Now sautéed in a pan melting
to a deeper green than ever they were alive, this green, this life,
harbinger of things to come. Now we sit at the table munching
on this message from the dawn which says we and the world
are alive again today, and this is the world’s birthday. And
even though we know we are growing old, we are dying, we
will never be young again, we also know we’re still right here
now, today, and, my oh my! don’t these greens taste good.