Birch in Spring

Birch in Spring 

    

Black eyes

 smooth white 

   supple body,

budded branches

torching

 cobalt sky

in pink,

hidden roots

    are fed by

March waters.

Medicine

folk

once called

up renewal

in this

 ‘Tree of Life’.

I long to make

 the climb

 to shatter

   winter’s icy skin.

Hope is a force

field

Birch has a key.

Trees are made

of Light.

Terry Tempest Williams, acclaimed author and naturalist helped me understand that hope is not something that one can call up at will, rather it is a kind of ‘field’ that one must enter by way of natural grace. 

In Terry’s own words  “Hope is a force field. It is not associated with either personal want or need.”

When I read these words I experienced revelation.

For the first time in my life I understand that hope is not an attitude I can cultivate; it is a form of grace that some have better access to than others.

This poem is an attempt to create space for hope during the advent of spring, understanding (and hopefully accepting) that the door may remain closed.

 And perhaps most important, that I am not to blame if I am barred entrance.

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