Now is the pause between asleep and awake: Two seasons take. A colour and quality each from each as yet. The new stage-set. Spandril, column and fan of spring is raised against the winter backdrop. Murrey and soft; Now aloft. The sun swings on the equinoctial line. Few flowers yet shine: The hellebore hangs a clear green bell and opulent leaves above dark mould; The light is cold. In arum leaves, and a primrose flickers. Here and there; the first cool bird-song flickers in the thicket. Clouds arc pale as the pollen from sallows; March fallows are white with lime like frost. This is the pause between asleep and awake: The pause of contemplation and of peice, Before the earth must teem and the heart ache. This is the child’s pause, before it sees. That the choice of one way has denied the other; Must choose the either, or both, of to care and not to care; Before the light or darkness shall discover. Irreparable loss; before it must take blame for the creature caught in the necessary snare: Receiving a profit, before it holds a snare.
The Spring Equinox
by Anne Barbara Ridler (1912 – 2001)
