I realised when I had written four stanzas of the Oracle’s message this morning, that she had given me the final stanza yesterday, in response to a cry of despair. Circles and cycles.
One day
Rain falls, welcome not bitter,
pattering through threads of birdsong,
music in the moaning of the wind.
Spring treads this damp green of thrusting shoots
though we scarce notice, our eyes
on screens and the world beyond.
Trees call with their leafing,
and the blue flowers beneath,
silent semaphore petals, unfurled flags.
One day, men with arms driven and blood-smeared,
will crash over the precipice,
the earth will pause with withheld breath,
and perhaps the colours will still be here,
bee-painted, bird-brushed,
whispered by the wind,
waiting for the smoke to clear.
Jane Dougherty Writes 
This is beautiful and sad. Not a surprise that we have similar messages.
I love “silent semaphore petals, unfurled flags.”
Thank you xx The flowers open regardless.
I’ve just read yours, and the two poems could be read together. The message is the same, the tone and the words too.
Yes, they do. I hope our wind and maybe frost doesn’t kill the ones here that are blooming, but I guess spring flowers are hardy.
You’re right, they could be read together. What a surprise. 😏
🙂
Mine is much darker this week. But it did mention spring. (K)
Dark? I wonder why? I’ll go and read.
I’ve had moments of intense grief in my life where I’ve found the idea of the seasons continuing to unfurl as almost affront, an attack on me personally. I sort of felt a hint of that feeling here.
I know exactly what you mean about the affront. It’s also that behaviour changes when the weather improves, regardless of a personal grief. I wasn’t really suggesting that though I can see that interpretation works. I don’t expect humanity to survive the apocalypse we’re creating, we certainly don’t deserve to. But I hope nature does, even if it’s unlikely.
Nature’s endurance is reassuring in these troubling times. A beautiful write, Jane.
Thank you. I keep checking up on plants appearing, buds, leaves, which birds are around. I worry when something is not here at the right time.
All still white here. You’re welcome
Spring is here, the birds are nesting. Yet there’s a sense of disaster looming just over the horizon.
A weather disaster, or the fret of war? I am feeling both.
Because both are happening, not just looming 😦
“Bee-painted, bird-brushed”….how lovely. I, too, am amazed at the gentle unfurling of spring in the midst of the horrors we are witnessing. The earth tries so hard to live, in the midst of our madness.
The earth never gives up. Unfortunately nor do we.
Reblogged this on NEW BLOG HERE >> https:/BOOKS.ESLARN-NET.DE.
Beautiful, and also true. xx Michael
Sadly.