To have been part of the revolving seasons of nature once more was enlightening and challenging. We are now emerging from the deep sleep of winter's frozen stillness. The other day I saw a male and female cardinal in a dance near my window, and my heart quickened. The Earth is soft, receptive to the rain and blustery winds. Stoic Midwesterners begin to sigh with relief, the curve of a smile threatening their solemn countenance. In Mexico the sun has warmed its people with glorious light throughout the winter months, but we in the central plains have risen to gray skies for too long. Our reward is the knowledge that after the darkness comes Light and hope.
This returning is what has made me acknowledge who I am: daughter of corn, woman of the woodlands, prairie born and raised. I am sad that my dream of redefining myself as a writer did not find permanence in San Miguel. Yet when I crossed the border into the United States last May, I thought of the prairie in the throes of Spring and wept.
I have the Iowa dirt between my toes, and a history of corn in my bloodline. Throughout my life I have been redefining who I am, but have never changed the core of my being. The Spring Equinox is about renewal and honoring the cycles of the Earth. It is about returning to the Light, and being human in this ever-changing planet. Most of all, it is about offering up our prayers of gratitude, for we have been blessed to witness the bold awakening of our land and hearts.
The Blessed Day
Bring the blessed day
straight into your anxious heart.
Let no buzz, no hum
no little plastic device
come between you and the day.
If you are trapped
inside a cubicle of artificial space
and the outside world
disappears into a minor beige
reach for the passion of purple
as it whispers into dusk.
Inhale the smell of freshly cut hay
scattered tenderly in the wind.
Then weep for the Woman who stands
on the magnificent Earth
in a temple of white remembrance,
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