TheBanyanTree: Let Evening Come

[Margaret R. Kramer]

As Minnesotans, we expect the month of March to postpone spring for a while
and throw a snow storm at us.  In spite of our wimpy and almost non-existent
winter this year, somewhere in the clouds there was a snow storm just for us
and winter decided to pay us a long postponed visit.  Our backyard rain
gauge had about six inches of snow in its cylinder, but cities further
south, like Owatonna received almost 20 inches.

The black cat, who hates to be inside for very long, finally bolted out the
back door this morning.  He shook off his feet as he stepped carefully
towards the garage.  I knew he could hear all those birds singing their
spring songs and no matter how bad it was out there, he was going to brave
the snow to hunt down a bird that wouldn't’t be fast enough to get away from
him.

I saw deer tracks all over our yard.  Of course, they were checking out the
bird feeders, but they cleaned them out earlier this week, and I hadn’t
filled them up again, so no free eats for the deer.

But the snow will melt quickly because of a combination of the stronger sun
light and warmer temperatures.  March might send us snow, but it refuses to
let the temperatures get very cold.

My brother is a March baby.  I remember spending one of his birthdays
huddled in the house, blowing out birthday candles while a blizzard raged
outside.  I never had to shovel snow when I was a kid.  My dad and brother
did that.  I’m sure my dad would have been outside that day, snow blowing
the driveway with this funny red contraption he put together to save him the
labor of shoveling heavy, wet snow.

My dad died two years ago around this time.  A few years before he abandoned
Minnesota with its fickle Marches and moved to Florida where in March the
sun shines all the time and the weather is always spring like.  I’m sure he
didn't’t need the funny looking red snow blower there.

We had just got back from a cruise of the southern Caribbean and listened to
the voice mail messages left by my brother and sister.  We had a layover in
Orlando on the way to San Juan, Puerto Rico to begin our cruise and I had
thought about calling my dad and asking him if he would like to meet us at
the airport for a cup of coffee or something.  But I decided not to, because
we would catch them when they came up north in the summer.

My dad died in his sleep.  He was up and ‘em during the day and when night
came, he laid down to rest, and he left.  Both my parents died quickly; my
mother from a sudden and fatal heart attack when she was 52 years old and
getting ready for work, and now my dad, in his sleep, after a typical day.
I hope their quick and relatively painless deaths are genetic and I will die
quickly as well, except not quite so young.

I designed my dad’s memorial service brochure and I included in it the poem
below.  The lines from this poem have been floating around in my head
lately.  It’s such a concise and elegant poem.  Each word counts.  Each line
makes sense and moves into the next one.  It’s a gentle poem, just like the
way my dad died, in such easy and gentle way.  I think this has to be one of
my all time favorite poems.  My dad spent summers on his uncle’s farm and my
mother and stepmother both enjoyed knitting and crocheting, so the poem’s
setting had personal meaning for me and my memories of my dad’s stories
about his childhood.

Let Evening Come
By Jane Kenyon

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the crickets take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn.  Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass.  Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down.  Let the shed
go black inside.  Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid.  God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

Margaret R. Kramer
margaretkramer at comcast.net

http://www.polarispublications.com
Be a star!

http://www.bpwmn.org
Business and Professional Women of Minnesota

A bird does not sing because it has an answer.  It sings because it has a
song.
~Chinese Proverb