Follow Her Tempting Lead
Letting ourselves be led by spring, plus a virtual tour of the Little Women garden and a reading of the poem "Invitation" by Mary Oliver
Wishing you all a blessed (belated) Beltane! A traditional Gaelic May Day festival, Beltane observes the very height of the spring season and lovingly anticipates the summer to come. This time of year makes me feel that anything is possible, that it’s all ahead. Perhaps it’s the lush green that seemingly comes from nowhere (but has really been waiting all winter to burst forth into being), or the seemingly sudden wealth of iridescent blooms that beckon me around every corner, tempting me to choose my way of walking based solely on what luminous flower or tree strikes my fancy. Spring offers easy, meandering strolls, if we let ourselves follow her tempting lead.
Spring has a magic to it like that, doesn’t it? No matter how cold and cruel the winter can be, we can count on the thaw, even if when it takes her time. The rigid landscape has melted, and with it, I have softened, too. Aware of the edges of the world, yes, but in possession of renewed warmth, recommitted to beauty, my bare feet finally able to come home to the soil once again, and with it, to all that is wild.
This is the time of year when summer stretches before us, and I conjure up a wish list of all sorts of lovely things I want to do in the coming months: pack a picnic, spend a Saturday in Central Park, eat my weight in raspberries, go to an outdoor concert and send my voice up into the evening sky like an imperfect prayer, slip away into the forest, taken in by the trees and the soft floor of pine needles and the owls I so desperately want to meet. These things may not happen, true. But the gorgeous potential of early May is that it’s all ahead; it’s all possible.
With so much life of all sorts being born and reborn at this time of year, I thrill at the wonder of it all. I tremble at the delicious, unknown road ahead: what beautiful things are yet to come forth through me, through you, through us as a collective?
The teaching semester has wrapped up in a beautiful flurry of final projects and hugs and goodbyes and reflections and promises for the fall and so. Much. INSPIRATION. Inspiration for the present moment, for the future, and a quiet but sturdy reassurance that it was worth wobbling through all the imposter syndrome storms in the past to get to just this moment, where I get to beam through tears at a group of young people making art in exceptionally kind and curious and collaborative ways, against all odds, and feel a rush of golden hued gratitude that I got to play even a small role in walking with them down this path for the last few months. Though there are plenty of moments where I’ve felt second class to folks who are much more logical and plan-oriented than I am, I find myself so glad that I’m ultimately someone who has always been willing to do things half-ready, because the truth is, if we wait until we’ve researched it all, read it all, and readied our armor for any possible outcome…well, in the words of literary golden child Anne Shirley, “…oh…how much you miss!”
During these lengthening days, my heart bursts open alongside the tulips that stretch up towards the blue sky, as if their petals cannot bear to remain politely gathered closed in the presence of such sunlight. Instead, spurred on by the sparkle of everything, they spread themselves wide in a surrender to what is here now, becoming almost like satellites, doing what they can to catch any whispers they sense coming from the stars.
A seasonal coming-back-around of sorts, yes, but also the singular moments that float into our sights in this very moment, not to come this way again, so best savored, relished, devoured. This paradox of seasonal and singular fills me with a zest that resists words and instead diffuses itself into a kind of fragrance that permeates these early May days for me, much like the scent of the lilacs, carried on the wind wherever I walk. Flourishing but fleeting. No logic is needed to love these glimmers.
This week, I’m offering another virtual spring adventure of sorts, a brief visit to the Little Women Garden at Orchard House, inspired by the description of the March sisters’ garden in the early chapters of Little Women, and this spring, absolutely stuffed with all sorts of blooms and beauty.
In the video, I also read the poem “Invitation” by Mary Oliver aloud. I’ll include the text of the poem below in case, like me, you want to print it out and post it somewhere that you can see each morning.
Excited to see you in this space again next week, and as always, take good care of your sweet selves (and each other).
Invitation by Mary Oliver
Oh do you have time
to linger
for just a little while
out of your busy
and very important day
for the goldfinches
that have gathered
in a field of thistles
for a musical battle,
to see who can sing
the highest note,
or the lowest,
or the most expressive of mirth,
or the most tender?
Their strong, blunt beaks
drink the air
as they strive
melodiously
not for your sake
and not for mine
and not for the sake of winning
but for sheer delight and gratitude—
believe us, they say,
it is a serious thing
just to be alive
on this fresh morning
in the broken world.
I beg of you,
do not walk by
without pausing
to attend to this
rather ridiculous performance.
It could mean something.
It could mean everything.
It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:
You must change your life.