Sunday Morning

~ Live & Learn

It’s spring, and everything looks frail;
the sky is baby blue, and the just-unfurling leaves…
a little dogwood tree is losing its mind;
overflowing with blossomfoam…
dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds,

so Nature’s wastefulness seems quietly obscene.
It’s been doing that all week:
making beauty,
and throwing it away,
and making more.

– Tony Hoagland from A Color of the Sky in What Narcissism Means to Me

Notes – Photo: Dogwood in Blossom by David Castenson. Poem: Thank you Whiskey River

45 thoughts on “Sunday Morning”

    2. I couldn‘t have said it better, this really touched me deeply. (I‘ve put the whole poem in a comment too – it‘s well worth reading – made me nearly a better person for a moment!)

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      1. I needed this today, Kiki. You have no idea.

        And we had one of those days yesterday here, in my corner of this world. Wind, snow, sleet, rain. All covered in Magnolia flowers….

        We have our seasons in a life time. And seasons within a day. And I’ve been flipping it over in my mind all morning, which time of the day would be spring?

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        1. Probably the morning, before the storm and demands of a new day? Before we realise that this coming day is NOT going to be a ‚breeze’?!
          Aren‘t Sundays SUNDAYs in your life? I know you have to work on certain Sundays, but I also agree that all 4 seasons in one day don‘t make a Sunday a Sunday! 😉
          I wish you peace and serenity. I‘m in Switzerland for another few hours and we also have, what we call ‚April weather‘ (4seasons-a-day). We took a ‚day off‘ yesterday, no family visits, just the two of us and we worried about the weather and the cold – decided to take trains to Lucerne, and taking a near 3h boat cruise with lunch, so that we could say ‚Never mind the weather‘ as we were to be inside cozied up in the ‚Salon II. Classe‘ where the restaurant was…. Thus making lemonade of the lemons. It was great!

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          1. Luckily, this Sunday is a “Sunday” Kiki ❤

            This is what came to me,
            Night is winter
            Early morning is spring
            Midday is summer
            Dusk is fall

            Thanks to You, and DK, for the inspiration.

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          2. Beautifully stated, I agree – we‘re already approaching ‚fall‘ here in Switzerland (tomorrow it‘s France again)….
            I shall gift you with some photos of yesterday‘s ‚cruise‘…. and you may throw them out after viewing!

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  3. Masterful – I LOVE IT – Shall look this chap up – and it covers my thoughts perfectly (although I wouldn‘t speak of ‚obscene‘ where nature is concerned, rather when humans interfere!). Aaaah, spring, spring, spring has sprung – finally – everywhere!

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    1. Yes, look the chap up. O’ Donohue has a similar twist:

      “When we hear the word ‘beauty’, we inevitably think that beauty belongs in a special elite realm where only the extraordinary dwells. Yet without realizing it, each day each one of us is visited by beauty. When you actually listen to people, it is surprising how often beauty is mentioned. A world without beauty would be unbearable”

      ~ John O’Donohue

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      1. Oh wow, wow, wow….. Here is the total of this WONDER-FULL poem:
        A Color of the Sky
        BY TONY HOAGLAND
        Windy today and I feel less than brilliant,
        driving over the hills from work.
        There are the dark parts on the road
        when you pass through clumps of wood
        and the bright spots where you have a view of the ocean,
        but that doesn’t make the road an allegory.

        I should call Marie and apologize
        for being so boring at dinner last night,
        but can I really promise not to be that way again?
        And anyway, I’d rather watch the trees, tossing
        in what certainly looks like sexual arousal.

        Otherwise it’s spring, and everything looks frail;
        the sky is baby blue, and the just-unfurling leaves
        are full of infant chlorophyll,
        the very tint of inexperience.

        Last summer’s song is making a comeback on the radio,
        and on the highway overpass,
        the only metaphysical vandal in America has written
        MEMORY LOVES TIME
        in big black spraypaint letters,

        which makes us wonder if Time loves Memory back.

        Last night I dreamed of X again.
        She’s like a stain on my subconscious sheets.
        Years ago she penetrated me
        but though I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed,
        I never got her out,
        but now I’m glad.

        What I thought was an end turned out to be a middle.
        What I thought was a brick wall turned out to be a tunnel.
        What I thought was an injustice
        turned out to be a color of the sky.

        Outside the youth center, between the liquor store
        and the police station,
        a little dogwood tree is losing its mind;

        overflowing with blossomfoam,
        like a sudsy mug of beer;
        like a bride ripping off her clothes,

        dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds,

        so Nature’s wastefulness seems quietly obscene.
        It’s been doing that all week:
        making beauty,
        and throwing it away,
        and making more.

        Tony Hoagland, “A Color of the Sky” from What Narcissism Means to Me.

        Sadly, Tony H no longer lives – but just look and marvel how much he packed into that one poem – what a GREAT man he was!!! (Even HH was impressed and he isn‘t having his head in the clouds of poetry too often!)

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  8. Spring gets lost in the memory of winter’s kiss that blew in on the back of a north wind howling across the prairies, grieving for its lost place in time.

    The world around me is covered in a blanket of white. Pristine. Soft. Frozen. I remember springs past and dream of blossomfoam over flowing.

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