Beginner's Heart

Beginner's Heart


green grass, blue sky, sun like honey ~

Spring is about growth. It’s full of religious celebrations that predate paper: Passover, Easter, Holi, the Spring Equinox, Makha Bukha, Bahá’í New Year, and many more.

For me, spring is also about children. It’s about egg hunts — a leftover from BCE (Before Christian Era) — and candy in baskets and new clothes. As a child, it also was about the dyed chicks & ducklings & bunnies that cuddled at feed stores & even dime store fronts, ready to grace a child’s basket Sunday morning.

We don’t do Easter baskets any more — my sons live thousands of miles west, and my grand-nieces & grand-nephew are busy at their besotted aunt’s. But today, when I came in to my desk to write, a totally romantic Easter cup awaited me. Brimming with the neon green ‘grass’ we all remember, in which nestled dark chocolate eggs & a hand-painted Canadian coin, complete with bee. I have the BEST husband… :)

For a brief moment, I was 6 years old. My Aunt Carol had bought me a chocolate egg, and my Aunt Joyce had taken me to see coloured ducklings. I had a new dress, shiny patent shoes, and a pastel basket. Warm spring sunlight was no brighter than my bliss.

I hope today brings you similar sweet surprises, and the love of those around you. And the happy faces of children under budding trees, standing beneath bright blue sky. It’s spring.

 



Previous Posts

form, poetry, and the empty cup
I spent the day researching obscure poetic forms.  And it was enormous fun -- thinking about what to pour into those elegant white cups of structure. Along the way, I wrote this poem for my sisters (the least structured of women). But we'll get to the poem in a moment. Because what's important i

posted 3:41:38pm Apr. 18, 2014 | read full post »

poetry, structure, and creative beginner's heart
Last night, discussing structure and writing with my elder son, I said I couldn't write w/ too much structure. That writing is -- for me -- a discovery process. Structure, I told him, can actually kill my ide

posted 3:03:47pm Apr. 16, 2014 | read full post »

what a difference a day makes (and other ways I wish I was like my grandson)
My grandson burnt his hands Sunday. Not horribly, but badly enough that he cried inconsolably for hours. Today? He's his usual sunny self: slapping the Cheerios on the highchair

posted 3:01:12pm Apr. 15, 2014 | read full post »

in the flash of a moment
My grandson hurt himself today. Not horribly, but bad enough that he's been crying for two+ hours. On a lovely spring day -- temps in the lower 70s -- he was on the deck w/ his folks, crawling happily around

posted 4:45:55pm Apr. 13, 2014 | read full post »

the poetry of every day
It's easy to forget that every day holds poetry. Especially if you're hectic: packing, moving, cleaning a new house, unpacking... Soothing a disolocated dog, holding a curious baby. Eating out of cartons while you locate the dishes and pans. All of this can make you forget the whole point of the

posted 2:46:45pm Apr. 12, 2014 | read full post »




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