Gifts of the Contradictions

There have been signs for weeks.
A few buds on the trees.
Snow (finally!) melting.
Songbirds.

There have been signs for weeks
but at times, they are mixed.
Warm today. Frost tomorrow.
Questionable weather. A sense of uncertainty.

The creeks are full and loud with their running.
Here in Vermont the sap runs
through warm days and cold nights.
Gifts of the contradictions.

The soul is not made for speed.
It is made for this: time to savor,
think, look inward and outward
for the signs. holding and releasing.
Time is needed

Time to appreciate, give thanks, Find,
Mourn perhaps and gape in wonder.
Not the easiest or fastest path,
but the one that sings
in a slow crescendo

that threatens to burst your heart
but never quite does.
The speed matters.

About this poem.

Inspired, believe it or not, by an article on AI I read last night. How AI moves and decides so fast that often its decisions are at best, mediocre, and often, dangerous.

The soul is not made for speed. And that is a protection, not a flaw

I have made some fateful decisions in my life, on what appeared to be the turn of a dime. But looking back I have come to understand that like spring, there were signs and things were changing underneath. The apparently quick decision had a long gestation period. A place of letting go and reaching out. I am living in that just-before-spring place now. It is a luxurious place to be.

Poetry is never about one thing.

The photograph was taken not far from West Pawlet, VT.

Tom