Predictably unpredictable

It's Odin's day … The vernal equinox is under way today across the contiguous United States. It's the earliest in 128 years. And it's my birth date.

The Roman poet Ovid was born 2067 years ago on this day in 43 BCE, Sulmo, Roman Empire [now Sulmona, Italy]

It's Henrik Ibsen's birthday. The playwright was born in 1828 Skien, Norway.

Spike Lee turns 67 today. The writer/director and multi-award winner was born on this date in 1957, Atlanta, Georgia.

Good company, my birthdate companions. As noted, it's also my date of birth in Tulsa, one day before Spring that year. Since 1942 – or maybe longer, who knows for sure? – I, like Rilke, have been living my life in widening circles around that primordial tower reaching out across the world. Circling for thousands of years, I still don't know if I'm falcon, a fish, a storm, or a great song.

120 is my new target date. Aging to 120 and dying happily? No longer beyond imagination, nor for the rich.

More International Women's month: Lion's Roar sponsored online women of wisdom celebration begins tomorrow and runs daily thru the 25th.

Spring Morning Before an Overnight Storm

An orange balloon loosed from

once upon a time moorings

has found itself stuck in the leaves

and twigs of a Tree of Heaven

growing wild in my small back garden.

Bouncing and bobbing freely, but imprisoned

somehow in a world of non sequitur,

of course, it will eventually give up

the air that presently sustains it’s life.

For now, a stiff breeze

fortelling late evening thunderstorms

has taken aim, its orange plight

pushing through leaves into the sky.

A mile to the North

another enamored poet,

another empty coffee cup,

another heavenly tree.

– jab 5/12/11