OPTIMISM
by Jane Hirshfield from Given Sugar, Given Salt (Harper Collins)

More and more I have come to admire resilience.
Not the simple resistance of a pillow, whose foam returns over and
over to the same shape, but the sinuous tenacity of a tree: finding the
light newly blocked on one side,
it turns in another.
A blind intelligence, true.
But out of such persistence arose turtles, rivers, mitochondria, figs—
all this resinous, unretractable earth.

Today is the Ides of March . . . and the forecasted temperature for DC is in the mid 80's.  The spring equinox for the northern hemisphere is still a week away, yet it feels more like the belly of mid-summer than the tip of winter's tail. 

Late last week I did what I always do when the first few warm days arrive in a bouquet predicting spring:  I packed up (most of) my winter clothes.  Woolens are awaiting a trip to the dry cleaners before going into storage.  Turtlenecks and some heavier sweaters are packed away in airtight containers.  There's a lightness to my closet now, both in fabric and hue. 

I realize this is optimistic.  The strongest nor'easterner of the 20th century occurred in March, 1962 bringing heavy snow in the mountains and major flooding on the eastern shores of Maryland and Virginia.   Although I wasn't born when that storm struck, I do remember a few instances of snow in March and in recent years, accessorizing my Easter dress with tights and a winter coat. 

Around this time last year, I packed away my warm wardrobe and then shivered through the end of the month.  Swathed in layers of cotton t-shirts and sweaters, I told myself that next year I would wait until April to change out my clothes.  But I didn't.

 

I blame the magnolia and cherry trees.  If they are adorned in their spring attire so early in the season, surely I can follow suit.  The optimism of nature is contagious.

 

Where do you see signs of optimism or resilience in the world around you?