“Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin, yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these”

~ Quote from Matthew 6: 28,29

Living is a serious business, but to the soul that rests in repose, it’s always spring, a sentiment echoed by the following lovely poem by Linda Gregg.

IN PRAISE OF SPRING

The day is taken by each thing
and grows complete. I go out
and come in and go out again,
confused by a beauty that knows
nothing of delay, rushing like fire.
All things move faster than time
and make a stillness thereby.
My mind leans back and smiles,
having nothing to say. Even at night
I go out with a light and look at
the growing. I kneel and look
at one thing at a time.
A white spider on a peony bud.

I have nothing to give, and make a
poor servant, but I can praise the spring.
Praise this wildness that does not
heed the hour. The doe that does not
stop at dark but continues to grow
all night long. The beauty
in every degree of flourishing.
Violets lift to the rain and the brook
gets louder than ever.
The old German farmer is asleep and
the flowers go on opening.
There are stars. Mint grows high.
Leaves bend in the sunlight as
the rain continues to fall.

~ Linda Gregg (1942-2019)