Waiting (Impatiently)

The trees look swollen at the tips. Some have tiny budlets, others are shooting delicate little hairy things from the ends of their branches. Snowdrops are up (no snow for them to bloom into, oh well) and other bulb flowers have begun to send their sturdy leaves upwards. Spring is almost here.

It's the almost part that's difficult. I see the tiny buds and expect warmth, soft air. Flowers, laughter, people outside hanging on the front porches. But the harsh truth is, it's still February. No matter how ready the trees look, spring is not yet here. The reality of the calendar doesn't stop my heart from wanting spring, though, and wanting it bad.

"Almost spring" is, for me, the season of Rumi, of Mirabai, Surdas, all those poets who knew how to capture the emotion of yearning in words. Their poems always blow me away. Though rigorous, I believe yearning is actually good for we humans. It stretches the heart, teaches us emotional intelligence ... or kills us, depending on how we manage it.

SOME KISS WE WANT

There is some kiss we want with
our whole lives, the touch of

spirit on the body. Seawater
begs the pearl to break its shell.

And the lily, how passionately
it needs some wild darling! At

night, I open the window and ask
the moon to come and press its

face against mine. Breathe into
me. Close the language- door and

open the love window. The moon
won't use the door, only the window.

--Mowlana Jalaluddin Rumi