Hope starts in small things
and becomes a river in spring –
the bright green pop
of a dandelion mandala
pushing up through the asphalt,
the cold March wind which says
hold on, brighter days are coming.
So maybe we live in dark times –
this morning the birds
and the crocus flowers
turned their faces to the sun
and sang, regardless.
Winter is tired.
She longs to lie down
in the arms of spring
among the sweet white blossoms
and the ripening buds of new beginnings.
There is sap rising up in the bones
of this body, this land:
this is where transformation comes,
where shoots grow from old roots.
So the wind blows,
maybe it brings change.
The idea for the opening lines of this poem came when I was standing on a bridge in the rain, looking at a river which had burst its banks after an early spring storm. I wondered at how the river, usually little more than a stream, had become an unstoppable force. It made me think about all the efforts people are making around the planet to create positive changes, to build “the more beautiful world our hearts know is possible” (Charles Eisenstein).
The poem is written in the spirit of honouring the land, the wheel of the year and the dynamic energies of the Spring Equinox, represented by the balance of light and dark, and the qualities of re-emergence, fertility and growth.
Alongside the despair and devastation, so much is changing and emerging in this moment. The poem is both offering and prayer for hope. It is intended as a dream for the world, for the wild places and for future generations. Whatever offerings you are making towards a bright future, may they become a river in spring. x