a quality of loss

Posted by on May 18, 2011


A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period–
When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.

It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.

Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay–

A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament

by Emily Dickinson

* * *

It has been a very parsimonious spring this year– the most stingy I can remember in six years of life in Indiana. Today is dense and overcast, damp, with more rain predicted, and chilly. It is not May outside, but March all over again. I think nature produced a surplus of these days this year and is still trying to get rid of them–dole them out with a few nice days interspersed, hoping that no one will notice.

And this morning my children have been so fussy, fussy, fussy. I have decided that the sound of a fussing, whining child should be harnessed as a weapon, because I am confident that it could cripple a small country or at least debilitate a city. Citizens would forget what it was they were supposed to be doing, cover their ears, and then turn against one another and get into a street brawl. The sound of fussing feels like an electrical storm happening in my brain. I cannot organize my thoughts or make a rational move toward getting anything done.

This morning I finally, with some forceful resolve, stuck the two year-old back into her crib at about 9:15 and sent the four year-old outside onto the playground–although, of course, no other children are out there due to the damp chill. But she seems content, playing in the sandy puddles that sit at the base of the green plastic slides. I’ll have to completely change her clothes when she comes in. Her pre-school will host an end-of-the-year picnic today at noon for all the families.

I’m not complaining, only indulging in a temporary loss of perspective. At some point, that impossible-to-pin-down light will appear again and shine on everything, transforming the way it looks and the way I see it– both.

  1. Kris Livovich
    May 18, 2011

    "Indulging in a temporary loss of perspective." Your last paragraph seems a good description of life in general. A cycle of rain and sun. I am so looking forward to some sun.

  2. Christy
    May 20, 2011

    an electrical storm, yes! I feel like almost any parent I know can talk with ease over their fussy children—except for me. I can't do that; it's impossible for me to concentrate…

  3. annajouj
    May 31, 2011

    Wow–what comfort to know that you are doing the same thing I have been doing lately. As I plug through the recent transitional attitude issues, I keep reminding myself that joy always returns, just around the bend . . .
    love to you, dear ones,
    anna

  4. amber
    June 3, 2011

    Jules, this is a mighty nice blog post–especially for someone barely recovered from the fussy baby brain storm. I need at least 2 fuss-free hours to get myself up for the use of "parsimonious." oxox