FIND A SPOT

I don't know about you, but it sure takes nuthin' for the day to zoom by. That certainly did not feel to be the case when I had a regular office job. Now, I get up and start working and, suddenly, it is noon, and I have not accomplished even close to what I had hoped. And the hours between 1:30 and 4:00 are totally strange. Time stops and starts. And then it is twilight, and that's when I get wiggy and contemplative.

Tipsy, in a quiet life-tizzy. But getting on. How about I give you this for today?







GROUNDHOG DAY

Celebrate this unlikely oracle,
this ball of fat and fur,
whom we so mysteriously endow
with the power to predict spring.
Let's hear it for the improbable heroes who,
frightened at their own shadows,
nonetheless unwittingly work miracles.
Why shouldn't we believe
this peculiar rodent holds power
over sun and seaons in his stubby paw
Who says that God is all grandeur and glory?

Unnoticed in the earth, worms
are busily, brainlessly, tilling the soil.
Field mice, all unthinking, have scattered
seeds that will take root and grow.
Grape hyacinths, against all reason,
have been holding up green shoots beneath the snow.
How do you think spring arrives?
There is nothing quieter, nothing
more secret, miraculous, mundane.
Do you want to play your part
in bringing it to birth? Nothing simpler.
Find a spot not too far from the ground
and wait.


 — Lynn Ungar, Blessing the Bread (Boston, Skinner House Books, 1996)