In the Land of Waiting-for-Spring

A tulip-in-waiting.

Pasque flowers await Queen bees, yet to emerge.

In this season of waiting, in a time that can feel like the unraveling of the world, what gives life joy and meaning? What are the signs of hope that lift us up?

Wild ones always spark that joy.

Last week, at the base of this oak hill by the river, a flash of soft yellow caught my eye. An inquisitive little goldfinch watched me from her perch with bright eyes. As I spoke to her in my most bird-beguiling tones, she fluttered to a near branch, and then to a nearer to listen for a moment.

Another day, high overhead I saw a migrating kettle of hawks and watched, mesmerized, as they swirled and spiraled on a thermal, a column of warm, ascending air. An ancient, circling dance of black wings against blue sky.

Earlier, on an evening when telescopes were set up to view the stars, I witnessed a breathtaking sight: a flock of night-migrating swans. 

Out of nowhere they swept into view. They wheeled and undulated like a murmuration of starlings, then winged away west, a dazzling oneness of movement and purpose — crossing the continent to a destination only they knew. 

Never before have I witnessed the great movement of spring migration across North America at this scale, as it was happening. I was speechless with wonder, reverence. The swans' surety, their way of knowing what to do, where to go, when to go there...all of the many mysteries swans know of that humans do not; not least of all, how to get from here to there, using senses humans will never know. 

How amazing to see these white-feathered beings flying as one in all their power and striving, and in accord with their internal knowledge — inhabiting their full, embodied, necessary lives — in their rightful place in the great web of being. 

This is magic. This is the spell of the wild. Touched by the ineffable; the swans' sacred nature revealed to me, their utter belonging to the ancient cycles of the wheel of the year, and to the community of earth and sky. 

I felt I had touched the vital source. For one singing moment, I felt part of the vast sweep of life on earth, this beautiful earth I love so much. 

Beltaine blessings as the rain falls from this Land of Waiting-for-Spring.