…I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
~Mary Oliver

All the seasons have gifts to offer us, I believe. Summer holds out the experience of abundance and the warmth of the Sun’s rays.  Winter reminds us of the wisdom of stillness, of hibernation, of looking inward.  Autumn brings a visual lesson of letting go. As leaves fall, we, too, can reflect on what needs to be let go and gently open our arms to release.

This particular spring, at least in Minnesota, seems to want to unfold in a Zen-like manner. No rushing. The lower temps have kept us wearing down jackets on one day and shorts on another. The cool mornings and evenings have given way to warming afternoons but sometimes not. Spring is, of course, the season of rebirth. We see brilliant greenness push up and bulbs who held their life underground begin to emerge.  Their welcome blossoms dazzle our eyes and we breathe deeper in expectation. 

Yes, it is about rebirth, and yet, this spring has also caused me to notice its fleeting nature. Those tulips and daffodils only last for a very short period of time. The wise person drinks them in at every glance. And the flowering trees now showing themselves like showgirls around every corner do so for only a very short period of time. So this year, I am naming another lesson of spring…fleeting. Spring also offers the opportunity for each of us to remember the transient nature of life…the reminder that, as poet Mary Oliver writes: Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?

This is not meant to be a morbid noticing. Instead, it is an invitation to do as she urges…be wide-eyed and pay attention, fall down in awe, embrace idleness, honor the blessing of the beauty and color that is an ephemeral gift. Which is what I’ve been trying to do as I watch the lily of the valley plants that have been growing with amazing speed in my yard. I have remarked to several people that I feel if I sat still long enough I might actually be able to watch them grow. Just a few weeks ago, there was not a hint of their presence. Having slept in the cold, dark soil over the winter months, they were invisible when I raked the dead leaves that had offered winter’s blanket. And now, any day, they will fill the yard with their distinctive May fragrance. I will cut bouquets and place them all around the house to try to hang on to this scent, this season. The rooms will be a gallery of May. 

Come June, however, the delicate, white flowers will dry up. Their fading will be a memory that can only be regenerated when passing someone on the street who is wearing a certain, faint sweet scent that reminds me of my grandmother. Two beautiful memories in one.

Fleeting. How can we honor all that is fleeting in our lives, in our world? Mary Oliver’s words send a call to noticing and names it an act of prayer. And who are any of us to argue with this wise poet who has given us such joy and created a script that can accompany our lives? 

If you are in the spirit to celebrate and honor the learnings of this short-lived season, then maybe it is more an act of prayer than any of us ever imagined. So, let us pray…