The Gray Flux Before

SNOW MOON--BLACK BEAR GIVES BIRTH

It was not quite spring, it was

the gray flux before.

Out of the black wave of sleep she turned,

enormous beast,

and welcomed the little ones, blind pink islands

no bigger then shoes. She washed them;

she nibbled them with teeth like white tusks; 

she curled down 

beside them like a horizon.

They snuggled. Each knew what it was:

an original, formed

in the whirlwind, with no recognitions between

itself and the first steams

of creation. Together they nuzzled

her huge flank until she spilled over,

and they pummeled and pulled her tough nipples,and she

gave them

the rich river.         

 ---Mary Oliver---

      I love poetry. It speaks truths in a few lines that could take volumes to explore. Now, on April 7, it most certainly is the gray flux before spring. The sun is lasting longer in the western sky, there are puddles here and there, I unzip my jacket in the mid-day warmth as I walk into Target to buy Folger's coffee and paper towels. There are still no buds on the trees, no tiny green shoots pushing out of the dirt. But I know that beneath the frozen earth and in dark caves life in all sorts of forms is stretching, pushing, pulsing towards the sun, towards the rich river. Bring it on!