Robin’s Return

 

 

 Maine Spring’s Hurry

 

Spring sang me awake this morning

fluttering his rusty red breast

to mark his spot

and letting all of us know

by crack of dawn’s deliverance

from a cool Maine night

that this tree is his

 

forest still stretches out from hems

where tree-shadows have staked claim

to last licks of snow clinging

to roots with wishes for one more day

 

garden’s dark throat cracks open

so little fire newts can finagle a way

to burrow their way up from kind ground

to find warmer soil to suntan on

 

tonight pond peepers

chirped in chorus in cold cacophony

while sister skunk skirted

edges of road putting up a stink

about not being able to cross safely

 

a season’s sins are uncovered

with litter and leftover leaves

barely able to hide shame

shuddering in front of my rake

 

I have pictures in my head

of rock gardens and ponds

that are yet to be excavated

and I am that red breasted bird

calling “Hurry!  Hurry!”

 

©Carol Desjarlais 3.20.12

There have been robins here the last few weeks... it gives me hope.  Robins are often seen after the passing of a loved one.  It is said to be an “I love you!” 

She appears to tell you to seek your happiness no matter how hard things might be around you.  As we end one hard season and beginning to see signs of newness, enter it joyfully.  Change is good.  Embrace it with song.

As an addendum, I play “Robin’s Return, from memory, when I first met my birth mother again. 

 

©Carol Desjarlais 2.3.23