A Little Poetry

This is going to be off topic.

Walking into work this morning, I could not help but notice that the air was crisp and the sky was beautiful. Yesterday, temperatures were in the high forties and just a few miles to our south, there is not any snow on the ground. Even though we are anticipating 4-8 inches of snow this evening here, the sunrise this morning brought this poem to my mind by Emily Dickinson:

A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period –
When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.

It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.

Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay –

A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.

I will admit that I only recalled the first two lines with any precision (literature classes are suddenly so long ago!) and upon looking the poem up, I was delighted to find the line “When March is scarcely here”. This is the kind of wonderful coincidence one finds in life and great art. What a beautiful thing that this poem should so perfectly capture early March that it should come to mind today after a passing glance to the sky.

Recognition of Spring’s soon arrival only comes with having lived through many Winters. And for this reason we cannot see the distinctive light of Spring without feeling the weight of many years. Question: what does it mean exactly that Spring passes and we stay? It seems to me at once both a very hopeful and melancholy observation, but I invite your thoughts.