Friday, April 10, 2015

Quintessential North Country Spring

Spring in My Minnesota frequently challenges my mental image of what Spring is supposed to be like. The weather forecast promises that this weekend will be more aligned with my idea of a model Spring day. Yesterday, not so much.

early morning rain
in the early morning rain
Photo by J. Harrington


a damp chickadee heads toward the feeder
a damp chickadee heads toward the feeder
Photo by J. Harrington


as snow mixes with the rain
as snow mixes with the rain
Photo by J. Harrington


becomes all snow
becomes all snow
Photo by J. Harrington


covers the ground and ends at sunset
covers the ground and ends at sunset
Photo by J. Harrington

National Poetry Month


Although I don't pretend to understand it, Lyn Hejinian's poem does seem to complement yesterday's (this season's?) weather:

[A straight rain is rare...]

By Lyn Hejinian

A straight rain is rare and doors have suspicions
and I hold that names begin histories
and that the last century was a cruel one. I am pretending
to be a truck in Mexico. I am a woman with a long neck and a good burden
and I waddle efficiently. Activity never sleeps and no tale of crumbling cliffs
can be a short one. I have to shift weight favorably. Happiness
can’t be settled. I brush my left knee twice, my right once,
my left twice again and in that way advance. The alphabet
and the cello can represent horses but I can only pretend
to be a dog slurping pudding. After the 55 minutes it takes to finish
my legs tremble. All is forgiven. Yesterday is going the way of tomorrow
indirectly and the heat of the sun is inadequate at this depth. I see
the moon. The verbs ought and can lack infinity and somewhere
between 1957 when the heat of the dry sun naughtily struck me
and now when my secrets combine in the new order of cold rains
and night winds a lot has happened. Long phrases
are made up of short phrases that bear everything “in vain” or “all
in fun” “for your sake” and “step by step” precisely. I too can spring.

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