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.

in the early morning rain

Photo by J. Harrington

a damp chickadee heads toward the feeder

Photo by J. Harrington

as snow mixes with the rain

Photo by J. Harrington

becomes all snow

Photo by J. Harrington

covers the ground and ends at sunset

Photo by J. Harrington

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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