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Resignation
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Resignation |
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clawmute Junior Member
since 2007-10-01
Posts 24Arkansas, USA |
Awake now, begin to awaken. Spring peepers know something, and herald the coming of a new era. Nearly time to stir. Indeed, a quiet stirring has already begun in the marsh. Beneath you the tiny, nameless, beautiful blooms, no larger than a pea, have dared to venture out. Brave little fellows I think. Daring to unfold their dainty pale blue petals and small green hands. Daring by faith to believe the ice will not return. All around them are a legion of slender, sharp ended saw grass blades that venture from the soil in unison. Even into the water’s edge they go, a growing green army. Coaxed to boldness by ever increasing glow and warmth of early spring sun. Around the little island small ripples roll in a chill breeze. Like tiny surfers, brown catkins ride into shore. Now you, along with your stirring and shivering in the breeze, also dare to put forth tiny green scouts from your limbs. Venturing hesitantly out into the new year for a bold look around. As days pass there is no more hesitation, all your strength is directed toward growing swiftly and taking advantage of a fleeting season. Around you a profusion of growth, all clamoring to be the sun’s favorite child. Vines, herbs, flowers, a mob of growth. Creatures pass by you and linger beneath your shade as the sun’s heat increases into a summer season. Frogs chirp and trill their joy for having a home in the marsh land, throats swelling with pride. Purple trilliums appear from nowhere and say “look at us, we’re here, are we not beautiful”? Virginia Creepers sprout their leaves of five and rush off, up and around the trees. Spotted fawns arrive under the arched veil of your pale green. Turtles hatch at your feet. Dragonflies take rest on your dangling leaves. Small birds of many colors hang and ride your limbs and twigs during short summer storms. They glean Cicadas and Crickets from your bark. Their nests are cradled against your gnarled, black-gray, deeply ridged trunk. They cry the alarm at the black snake that stops to eye them, tongue testing the breeze. Now comes the time when you are at your strength, leaves all grown, adding inches to your girth. Adding limbs and growth, extending your roots. It’s that glorious time of youth. That time of joy that swells to the point of bursting. Feasting on the rich dark abundance in the wet earth, this season bodes well for you. But far too soon, the hot steamy days of summer begin to wane. You want to slow things down a bit, extend the season, but you cannot. It’s too big for you. Too big for me. Days are not quite as hot now and nights are not as humid. Everything that is knows. That’s how things are. That’s how they always have been. How they will continue to be. Your neighbors begin to lose a few leaves, those leaves dark green yesterday and last week are a little paler today. A sign of change, an ancient power speaking again. The bird’s nests are soon vacant, and the inhabitants, airborne, have fled. Coming again now, that changing of masters and of seasons. Marking time and crossing one more year from the list of those you were granted. In earnest now, leaves decide that summer green is too much the same. Too many just alike. The drive to color up the landscape is zealously taken on by all, including you. They know they are to end, and their raging colors speak as if to say “look at me, I was here, am I not amazing”? Mostly yellow now, your slender canoe shaped leaves. Your limbs, whipped by fall winds, rain and scatter leafy fruit across the surface of the water. Little yellow canoes now speeding off for unknown shores. Yellow brush strokes on the black canvas of the marsh water. The first ice forms, and the frost. The frogs have burrowed safety into the black mud. A pale white frosty covering is laid over fallen limbs and logs. Torrents of leaves fall from you and from your neighbors. A whirling race to see who reaches ground or water first. An Olympics with leaves as athletes and performers. Then comes a dusting of snow. Winter’s first real calling card, letting all know that it’s her turn now and she will make the rules. The white Queen has taken the throne. The sun has retreated to his lower circle. His strength now directed at marshes and plains in other regions. His back turned on you and your neighbors. And you gray willow, bare of leaves, slender limbs pulsing in the first cold winds, resign yourself to it, and sigh loudly with the wind at summer’s passing, shrugging your drooping shoulders. Rubbing your hands and fingers together. Take your rest now. Rest in quiet resignation until the first warm breaths of spring arouse you to life again. Sleep now. Your year is done and yes, soon mine will be also. Farewell my long time friend, with hopes of meeting you once more next spring. Then again our hearts can sing with the promise of new life. It has been promised we know. KNOWLEDGE IS A DEFENSE AND MONEY IS A DEFENSE, BUT THE EXCELLENCY OF WISDOM IS THAT IT GIVES LIFE TO THEM THAT HAVE IT. |
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| © Copyright 2007 Frank Lee Jennings - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Clang Member
since 2005-12-15
Posts 222 |
This was really beautiful. I am surprised more have not commented. Your writing soothes the soul and makes me long for some communion with mother nature. It literally exudes the process of life through a look at the seasons and a day in the life....Thank you for sharing. |
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