sap makes me hopeful too

I have been going through a poetry reading phase again--this usually hits me about this time of year, when the white has become oppresive and certain days' temperatures trick us into thinking of spring.

Mummy Dearest let me tag along with her the other day when she picked up Lil Fish and her niece M from Pre-K; one of those beautiful, sunny winter days. One of the other parents said to Mummy that this is the time of winter which she likes most because it starts to feel hopeful: it is getting warmer and the sap is running. It made me smile to think of the tapped trees, buckets hanging under spigots and running sap as a hopeful sign of spring, but a truer one I couldn't think of.

So, I sit and am hopeful. I am hopeful that spring really is close at hand. I am hopeful that my seeds arrive soon as I am eager to feel the beginnings of life through their rectangled packaging. I am hopeful.

"White-Eyes"
In winter
all the singing is in
the tops of the trees
where the wind-bird

with its white eyes
shoves and pushes
among the branches.
Like any of us

he wants to go to sleep,
but he’s restless—
he has an idea,
and slowly it unfolds

from under his beating wings
as long as he stays awake
But his big, round music, after all,
is too breathy to last.

So, it’s over.
In the pine-crown
he makes his nest,
he’s done all he can.

I don’t know the name of this bird,
I only imagine his glittering beak
while the clouds—

which he has summoned
from the north—
which he has taught
to be mild, and silent—

thicken, and begin to fall
into the world below
like stars, or the feathers
of some unimaginable bird

that loves us,
that is asleep now, and silent—
that has turned itself
into snow.

~ Mary Oliver