There Are Seasons

There are seasons, deep and splendid,

when each heart sees where it flows,

estimates the time for leaving, tells the distance, then it goes;

does not hesitate nor falter, neither turns nor seeks reply

to the hundred unasked questions; wipes no tear, bids no goodbye;

sings the chilly breath of morning, sings the silent silver rain,

sings itself in perfect cadence: endless joy to ceaseless pain;

knows the price of freedom’s vision, keeps no treasure on the shelf,

hobbled by the need for comfort, pushes hard against itself;

sees the once familiar sunrise, smells the storm upon the wind,

wild and free and now unbounded tastes the salted air again.

Such sweet moments! I have known them. Lying wakeful waiting where

they might find me, recognise the tired step upon the stair,

take my hand, release the spirit, let the blood of life’s regret,

there in silence learned forgiveness, sorrows I could not forget,

and my heart, a winter sparrow, shivering but glad of snow,

humbled by the cold rejoinder, stumbled but did not let go.

Minutes savored, felt, remembered, like a fabric sewn and torn,

life becomes a coat of hours huddled into, through a storm,

folded for a handy pillow, tossed upon a chair in haste,

then, regarded from a distance, sought, desired, longed for, chased…

then the seasons mend the fabric, fortify, delight, renew…

yet I’d trade them all and gladly for one moment close to you.

I have heard the magic echo, incantation, perfect hymn

singing soft of steel gray winter, autumn reaching from within,

celebrating songs of seasons, spring in sparkling painted skies,

the shuddering release of summer; mysteries written in your eyes…

But I’ve not found in all the miles,

in all the seasons I have known,

words to tell how deep or why…

The heart has reasons of its own.

{Nancey Delaney}