…….comes the ritual that takes us from the cold, dark months of winter to the balmy bright days of a new season, a rite of passage known as spring cleaning. But as of yet, Ol’ Man Winter hasn’t quite left the building, so I began my ritual using the kiss rule, as in keep it simple stupid; stay inside and stay warm until the chill totally exits stage left. Therefore, the first clean-up jobs I tackled were of the inside variety, cleaning out my filing cabinet and desk drawers. And it was there, deep in the bowels of my desk, that serendipity jumped up and kicked me right between the eyes, for I discovered a buried treasure from years gone by; many years.
On seeing it, the memories of its genesis came back right away, as if a floodgate had opened. It was on an early April morn’ in 1980 that this story begins. I had just worked off the 3rd shift at the knitting mill where I was employed (do any of y’all remember polyester double knit?) and was on my drive home. The day was already warm, the air clear and the sky a crystal Carolina blue. I was in an exceptionally rare good mood after having worked 12 hours, and when I just so happened to glance out the window to my left at the ridges towering over the highway, my eyes were regaled with a sight of natural magic. The entire side of the mountain looked as if it was covered in snow. What it was, however, were Dogwoods in bloom. I pulled over to the side of the road and got out, just so I could stare at, drink in, and feel the beauty before my eyes, being swallowed up and becoming a part of what surrounded me. I was totally mesmerized, yet, not so much that my mind was unable to kick into high gear, searching for the perfect paint-brush-of-words to share the images I was seeing, and I begin composing a poem, right then and there.
Once I broke free of the enchantment, I jumped into my car and hit the road, and by the time I got home, it was a done deal; mental composition complete; and I ran into the house, grabbed pen and paper and wrote ‘er down. And that very piece of paper, ragged and worn and faded by time, was what I discovered amidst the piles of other stuff and junk in my desk drawer that have since went the way of the shredder.
And so it is, that after being buried for three decades, these words see the light of day once more. In reading them again after so long, the memories they filled me with brought back a long-lost sense of wonderment tinged with nostalgia. But even more so, it reminded me of the rebirth I myself have experienced over the past year, realizing that no matter ones’ age, hopes and dreams never die, as long as you’re willing and able to look beyond the obvious and search for the realm that lies beyond the ordinary.
But ‘nuff said; no more waxing poetic words; it’s time to share the said verses of that long-ago, young-man dreamer I was, and have most recently became reacquainted with, and in doing so, hopefully it will inspire you too, as it has me, to never give up and to go for it, no matter how improbable or impossible your visions may seem. Yes, I truly do believe, now, that hope springs eternal. So here ya go! An oldie goldie, blast from the past.
I have seen the mountains,
And heard the songs they sing.
I have seen the Dogwood’s blooms,
White as snow in Springtime’s green.
I’ve felt the eerie silence
Of the deepest forest’s quiet.
I’ve seen the ethereal beauty
Of a starlit, ebon night.
I’ve seen the ghostly morning mist
Rise like a spirit from a pond.
I’ve seen the graceful butterfly,
Driven by the breeze’s wand.
I have seen nature’s beauty
Burst forward upon God’s Earth.
I have felt the stirring in my soul
As it too has rebirth.
I have seen the seasons pass as
They all play out their part.
And though it can’t be Spring forever,
It’s everspring within my heart.
