I care too much for you
and the daffodil
To cut its stem from her root
in the earth.
There are other things I could give you.
A smooth gray stone, worn by the sea
Says much in the palm of your hand.
Still, the most precious thing
I cannot give you – time spent
with your own quiet heart
silently loving itself.
So I invite you – give yourself time,
an hour or two to wander.
Morning and evening light are best for this.
Give your feet time to find their way
Among the bumpy stones and roots,
Until you begin to see each tree as an old friend
You’ve been longing to greet.
Give your fingers time to unfold their wonder
Like the new spring buds,
Opening their hands to the unfamiliar, cool air,
Trusting a memory of the sun’s warm touch.
Stop long enough to learn their tongue,
To hear their fresh and gentle voice
Singing from the brown husk of winter.
Visit long enough to read the smile
glowing on their lips
As they poke through the ground, press skyward
and unfurl their skin.
Go to the woods and breathe there.
Place your hands into the burning cold of a spring stream.
Let the water wash over your face.
See the wind ripple and melt the silver surface
of a black pond.
Lie flat across a broad boulder
and let your belly touch the sky.
Open the world with your arms
and the sun will greet you –
You, who are becoming spring,
Silently loving yourself.