on the morning of ostara, the spring equinox, with rain

come gently into the morning
where the wild birds sing
amongst tender raindrops
and a softened wind
come into the morning
it comes into you
where your heart is singing
tears sighs silences
and the joys of the world
which is you

Today is Ostara, the Spring Equinox, in my part of the world, so I thought I'd celebrate with a truly awful poem written in three minutes while under the influence of a sore throat. I seem to have lost my creativity somewhere inside a photograph or beneath an unswept floor. But I remind myself that, in the method of organic writing that I follow, the waiting for words is more important than the words themselves. The seeds in the earth are working, working, and the flowers they will eventually make are their composition, the revelation and celebration of their secret process.

Ostara is a difficult time for me, because on one hand I am enraptured by its beauty and its sense of hope, but on the other I know a long dry summer lies inescapably ahead. Soon daylight savings will be recommenced, to my deep and heartfelt grief. (I love the night, but I also love natural time, and I believe people are never so healthy as when they live according to the true rhythms of the day, the year.)

But just now there is a quiet, old-fashioned kind of rain outside, and the birdsong and the garden are fat with fresh joy, and it will be many months yet before they wither from drought. Following the Old Ways supports me in standing deep within each moment, and appreciating how the world works just as it ought (part from climate change and daylight savings and all the other abuses of Mankind, that is.)

There's an unmarked comma in the poem, and it seems typical of my creativity at the moment that the only decent thing about the whole poem is not actually written down - but it is suggested, and I hope if you sense it, that it offers some food for thought. You may also ask why I shared such an awful poem in public? Well, if I don't write something on my weblog I fear I'll forget it altogether. So I'm taking limped steps, because that's something, even if it isn't dancing.


  1. Well, I'm not very familiar with poetry, so I thought it was lovely. ;-)

  2. I think perhaps you are too hard on yourself. Your writing is lovely, even if it may not come when called. You have a wonderful talent.. set it free.

  3. "come into the morning
    it comes into you"

    ...this is lovely, and something to remember with so much that surrounds us.

  4. 'the waiting for words is more important than the words themselves'—such valuable advice. I am learning to wait patiently. And I too dislike daylight savings. I don't really understand why we can't just let the world be what it is, and love it that way, instead of always trying to impose ourselves and control everything. It has been raining here too …