rites of spring

Demeter embraces Persephone

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It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.Rainer Maria Rilke

Whatever the weather outside, it is spring in Vermont. Many of us looked out the window to see a thin layer of snow with green spears of crocuses poking through. This is the way with spring: a space in between, imperfect beginnings, some struggle, some the growth toward the green. To blend these ideas with our monthly theme of sisterhood, at group this week we told the story of Persephone and Demeter, two women separated by the cycles of the seasons and who rely on the passing of time for their freedom and reunion. 

The story of Persephone’s descent into the underworld has been told for centuries. There have been so many tellings and interpretations, there were a hundred  ways for each member of the group to feel connected to it. Our writing centered around these characters, the journey through and out of the underworld, what knowledge can be gained there, and beauty of spring in the eyes of writers and the loved ones they remember sharing it with. Cycles like the seasons or those described in the story open doors in time, open up new possibilities for any of us. Spring brings renewal.

In the stories below, you’ll read of this renewal, hopes for the future, and record of self-discovery as each of us walked through our writing toward spring:

My Feet Remember

It is spring, but today there was snow
On the ground.
As I looked out my frosted window,
White covered the dead glass,
When will you turn green?
I am waiting patiently.
I want my feet to feel the soft blades.
Coming out of the earth.
I can’t wait for my feet to feel
Soft white beach sand.
Fall and Winter are now a thing
of the past.
Unfortunately, my feet didn’t have
The chance to walk on crunchy
Autumn leaves.
My feet wanted to feel the fluffy
Cold flakes of winter.
That didn’t happen either.
I do feel a glimmer of hope
That this spring and summer
Will be different.
This could be a pipe dream.
I believe there is still a chance
For my feet to be free again
For they know the
Seasons by heart.
A legend of four winds blowing
Belong to me and you.
Patiently, we wait for another world to start.

CMP

***
I Walked in A Summer Twilight Searching for My Daughter

I walked in a summer twilight searching for my daughter.
Along the path I remembered the times when we
Would go on walks holding hands and laughing.
Searching for my daughter, I had to remember
She is no longer a little girl but a young lady
And the world had more meaning for her now
At this age.

It was there in the beautiful pasture, surreal
By wild flowers she sat just taking in the beauty
And fresh air.

It was then that I sat with her and placed
My art around her, looking at the beauty
Of all things and once again another day
Of happiness with my daughter and a memory
Never to forget.

LB
***

Legendary

Am I legendary only in my own mind? In synchronization with each deliberate thought and self affirmation. I was not built to withstand the hands of time but rather to leave an echo in the wake of my existence that whispers my name. Whether my accomplishments are noted, or forgotten, their existence will have been a product I manufactured. However, when I think of myself, it is not my face that I see behind my eyes. Those eyes seem to hold a destiny that was never meant for me. I remain walking, it seems propelled in the direction of uncertainty. At least I have a direction and I am not walking aimlessly amongst the burden of nowhere. Scattered are my thoughts as I try to rise against myself, become what I see so clearly, the thickness of my skull must dull the reflection. The vision I see pulsing through my conscious mind, comes through the brown in my eyes, a fog. It is what others see I wonder. The people who matter to me, leave me wanting. Praying to a god I’m not sure exists for just one mere day. Do they see a legend? Do they feel the impact of my life on the inside of theirs? I hope so. Because that is where I want to be. In the hearts and minds of others. Attached to the fragments of a broken soul, healing the wounds, and mending the pieces. I want my story to be one worth remembering. That when the people I know are in a daze, reminiscing of me, and days past. An involuntary smile crosses their lips. And when they hear that stir of echoes, that sound of my name. They feel the breath of my presence and know that I am a legend.

SC

 

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