My Spirit Is Tossed

The Enkindled Spring
              (D. H. Lawrence)

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.

I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.

And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, a shadow that's gone astray, and is lost.


Spring came late again this year, so while I kept this poem in reserve, waiting to use it until the flame-filled bushes with their thorn-blossoms finally bloomed, what has been happening in our country this past week can give a whole different meaning to Lawrence's poem.

My spirit is tossed, and lost, first by the horrible murder of George Floyd and then by seeing coverage of the aftermath. Just as a world-wide pandemic had seemed to me a distinct 'someday' possiblity, so had the thought of another war between ideologies and cultures. I just didn't think they would both happen at the same time or during my lifetime.

I don't know what the immediate answers are, I have none. But I have opinions about what will have to be done to insure the future of our planet and lives in the long run. And the hope that the leaders we need will be able to take us there.

But as I wait, I will rely on the beauty of nature to sustain me.