Spring Equinox

by James Crews

Spring Equinox  by James Crews

Looking down at the pink, unlit wicks
of the crocuses, and daffodil buds
swollen but taking their own sweet time,
I wonder if an equinox also happens
in us during grief, if some personal sun
crosses the equator, and our nights
begin to grow shorter, daylight filling
our lives for longer and longer periods.
These perennials are wise: they sense
sleet, high winds, the shroud of snow
to come. Maybe there are parts of us
that know without our knowing when it is
time to open again—we just wake up
one morning to find ourselves drenched
in light and shivering, forever changed.



From James:
Spring is such a slow, back and forth process in Vermont that it reminds me of the grieving process, which is never linear, straightforward or easy. But there does come a point when you can feel a shift beginning to happen, as when the sun grows in strength and the nights start getting shorter again.