Space that Births

Photo courtesy of: ‘Maple leaves’ by gregovish – Pixabay

It isn’t often we speak of joy. Something so personal, so deeply experienced in the moment, a sound that resounds in a felt silence, the brightness that illuminates a darkened bulb, and beyond…that connects with all there is, and the space that births it’s nascence. As Ken says, “…That joy itself goes mute, Within the silence of its roaring spring..”

April Afternoon
By Ken McKeon

Hardly paid any attention
To this one maple,
Wedged into a far corner of the deck,

It’s one among several trees,
Those nearly fully leafed out,
Those all lovely quiet presences
Duly planted here in ceramic pots.

But this now before me,
Has gone essentially nowhere,
A zilch of a flop even in late April,

Yet, this afternoon, a few
Bright, deeply pink leaves.
They’ve just shown up,

I didn’t even see the
Dots of life, buds of growth,
I didn’t see them coming,
And now this springing leaf,

Such a kick it is to see unfurled,
This lift of light,
It’s now all one,
It’s now all growing,
It looms as light itself
Is seen beyond itself,
Horizon given, but not horizon bound,

It’s more an enveloping
Than a something pointed to,
Is such a dear joy,
That joy itself goes mute
Within the silence of its roaring spring.

And I am touched by the light
As it is touched by the sun,
Brief glows both,
But quite here now
On this April afternoon.