(Beethoven's Violin Sonata No. 5)
The audacity of spring buds!
Always coming back for life,
even as March winds blow.
Ah...but the sun is shining.
Why not pop on out into it?
Something implacable pulls
hidden liquids through fibers.
All bitterroot memories fade
in light of new experience.
Into bright and swift wind!
Into fresh days of braving,
of pushing, leaning into time.
One must inhale this breeze
and imagine the sky warming.
Shy turtles in an early stream
anticipate April's rushing rain.
There!...tulips are bursting
into such breathtaking colors.
And the tender buds of oaks
tremble in undying bravado.
But who can step into a dimming
when a cloud drifts, intervening
and not feel the spring restrained?
For a moment or a lingering few,
a buried root of very deep regard
also trembles, trembling in shadows,
surprised in fibers that are sensitive.
Yet...that aching into other seasons
lasts briefly, a transient wistful pall.
It dims as the cloud goes on blowing
and the sun gently burns it away.
Along this faint trail of aromas,
footsteps move like a gliding.
How wonderful the mind blends
with all these forms of promise.
How grateful falls a bird's song,
clear and loud onto waking ears!
Out here now a roaring bonfire.
Flames of course calling spirits
who stagger drunk in twilight.
Flames to make the cold good.
Infectious these tongues of fire,
sending sparks to melt memories.
It will happen on such occasions,
the letting go of winter's fingers,
the taking hold of invisible hands
to dance a rondo for spring fairies.
Copyright 2011 -- Tim Buck
movement number one
movement number two
movements three & four