Seasons of My Childhood:Spring
by Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen — Read all 1,670 poems by Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
Yearning, growing need for change as painful winter hangs on, and then...rivulets of water are running, carving intricate miniature rivers and tributaries, twisting, tinkling, they become death-still at night, waiting again for the fluid caress of warm liberation and triumphant movement, eager to flow, to travel, to find nirvana. Retreat is long and slow, blotches and patches of raw ground show in fields and spots of sere, bare grass poking out and shuddering in the yet cold wind, song of a spring bird, caught in a chilled kingdom, puzzled at the slowness of what had sent it winging north, rays of luke-warm sun a soft, sheer blanket of colors unseen.
Slowly the snow gives way, now is the period of brown and black, bare-skinned branches straining to come awake, eyes search ceaselessly for signs not yet timed for release, more water, but from the skies of change, mantling the straining hopes with burdensome weight and breathlessness. Restlessness is upon the young family, waiting for the sensations of season in the newness of this land, slush and watery ways and dripping landscape fills the awakening air with moist coolness, quivery sound and burgeoning promise of growth.
Seemingly overnight, a flush of resurgence shows, pussy willows with the softness of cat-belly fur, branch tips and buds swelled to bursting, birthing the miniature shapes of wind-loving leaves, the catkins of future lives, the elation of winter’s end. Restless stretchings and liftings, impatient thrusting of life, aware of its future verdancy, its bee-matings and seed-settings, first must come the sunshine and rain, the stirrings of nuclei, then the gentle tip-thrust of rooted strength below. Unseen life’s sap now sends it’s energy forth, blades shoot upward, rolled-up tints of green unfurl with a shiver, folded velvet and genders origins straigthen and plump, the crinkles of genesis gratefully ease away from banner-life.
The Great Race has begun, the days of spring grow into the lives of the children, showing wonders at every shuddering turn, the dance of life leaping and bounding with twirling dizziness and strident whispers of joyful exuberence. Eyes of brown and hazel gaze raptly in awe, the flash and flare of flowers start, daffodils and tulips nod their yellows, reds and whites, greeting the lilies of the valley who send their perfume aloft in splendid reply, hiding shyly behind their sea of leaves.
Mother’s loving ministrations bring flower gardens alive, the pliable earth feeling sunshiney-warm and rich with vigor, peonies and coral bells, petunias and gardenias, all floral families together in harmony and bliss, pampered and admired. Sorrounding this house of crabapples and pines, birch, Dutch elm and mountain ash, comes the instrumental music of birds warbling trills, raspiness of insects, lawnmowers varying growl with clank of rebounding rocks, shrill yells of victims tagged on the run.
Exploration takes place, small, hilled forest bleakly seen in stark winter becomes a paradise of triliums and bloodroot, wild strawberry patches are found and claimed, charming grape hyacinth stumbled upon and taken to mother’s hand. Teenaged pines with lofty ambitions holding cradles of sky blue eggs, robin’s denials sharply resounding, spider’s webs of architectural marvel link shrubs and tall grasses, happy kong-ka-ree’s of red-winged blackbirds splash the warm air. Swampiness and reeds, tadpoles and minnows, whining flight of mosquitos and slap-happy kids, a clashing of wild and wild, the leap of frogs and the leaping of children trying to catch them part of the spring ritual, nature’s gymnastics masters.
The shortness of houses on this street belies the extent of childish life, youthful activity is seen from end to end, large yards and tall trees filled with dreams and games, cats and dogs, love and pride, life and living. Heat of sun and warmth of emotions twine together to celebrate the season of spring, the rebirth of earth’s deep, cleansing breaths, the lengthening of sunshiney days, the breadth of the miraculousness of this world’s strange and abundant life. School days drag and pull attention from nature’s wealth, constraining and tedious, bell rings it’s final knell, the ringing peal’s now arise from the children fleeing for their summer lives, long morns abed, bowled soggy cereal and awaited cartoon days
Erin Moen
3/2002
Saturday, October 26, 2002
Okay, this is the last part I have finished, will have to get to work on Summer and Fall. Thank you all for reading such lengthy pieces, I love them but others have felt...daunted by their over-descriptive maudliness. We had such a great place to grow up, even though our father divorced us. :)
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