February Fervour

'Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems.' - Rilke

'The day the Lord created hope was probably the same day he created Spring'.  ~Bern Williams

Today is the first official day of Spring, yay! And to celebrate its energy (lots of green, blue, and sunny energy), I'm going to dedicate a post to it.

Today, here in Ireland it's St Brigid's day, one of our patron saints. It's also Imbolc, the first of the four Celtic celebrations of the year. Today is a day for celebrating the first signs of Spring and today there were many: golden sunshine, big blue sky, daffodil shoots appearing, and now, a beautiful amber-warm and blue-cool dusk. And of course, that buoyant fizzing energy of Spring ahead.

In T.S. Eliot's groundbreaking poem 'The Wasteland,' he begins with stating that 'April is the cruellest month/breeding lilacs out of the dead land', but somehow, I always think of February as a lilac-coloured month, before all the greening ahead. Like the colour of a bud before blooming. Or crocuses. It's also supposed to be the month for clearing out before the  growth of the months ahead. A breather if you like, between the darkness of winter and the fresh green hands of spring. 

And Spring arose on the garden fair,
Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;
And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast
rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.
~Percy Bysshe Shelley

Roll on the greening!

~ Siobhán
 

And some Spring poems. The first by American poet Carl Sandburg, whose dreamy mystical renditions of nature sing through his poems. (To read more on him, click  here)
And Irish poet, Paula Meehan, whose homage to the transformation of Spring in 'Seed', both within and without, is lyrically and profoundly affecting. (To read more on her, click here)

'The Wind Sings Welcome in Early Spring' ~ Carl Sandburg

The grip of the ice is gone now.
The silvers chase purple.
The purples tag silver.
They let out their runners

Here where summer says to the lilies:
“Wish and be wistful,
Circle this wind-hunted, wind-sung water.”

Come along always, come along now.
You for me, kiss me, pull me by the ear.
Push me along with the wind push.
Sing like the whinnying wind.
Sing like the hustling obstreperous wind.

Have you ever seen deeper purple …
this in my wild wind fingers?
Could you have more fun with a pony or a goat?
Have you seen such flicking heels before,
Silver jig heels on the purple sky rim?
Come along always, come along now.

 Seed ~ Paula Meehan

The first warm day of spring
and I step out into the garden from the gloom
of a house where hope had died
to tally the storm damage, to seek what may
have survived. And finding some forgotten
lupins I'd sown from seed last autumn
holding in their fingers a raindrop each
like a peace offering, or a promise,
I am suddenly grateful and would
offer a prayer if I believed in God.
But not believing, I bless the power of seed,
its casual, useless persistence,
and bless the power of sun,
its conspiracy with the underground,
and thank my stars the winter's ended.