Spring is never quite the way you think it’s going to be. It starts off looking all mellow and warm, with gentle breezes, and then, turns cold and damp, with blustery wind that says, “I am not yet done telling you something.”
The voice of the wind murmurs, rises and briefly howls as it did during winter, as if to let us know that at any time, winter could return, and maybe it will… for a little while. Then, the sun comes out and a little bird lands, pecking at the ground, on its way to the nesting place it will find soon.
I am happy, knowing that in a few weeks the early morning air will be dense with bird song. I walk around looking at grasses, trees, flowers, asking myself what I am going to do about it all. Buds begin to form, the first sprouts of the first flowers come up and look around at the world, still wet and chilly.
Here in the mountains, there may be hard frost in the morning, but in the afternoon, the chorus of frogs rejoice in the moisture and the chance to jump around.
Spring is gentle in the middle and rough around the edges, or the other way around. It seems to promise great things, then takes them back again, telling us that we must wait to see if they are really going to happen.
For me, spring also holds a bit of melancholy, a kind of wistfulness that doesn’t really show itself except in bits and pieces. The beginning… does this mean there will be an end, too? Of course it does, but is there really a beginning or an end? Or is that only a concept that lives in our minds?
What are the buds saying now about the harvest that will come when they have flowered, fruited, ripened, fallen or been gathered?
I walk around, looking at the displays of nature. The flowers have a language of their own. They rise and throw color into the world, they are blown over, or rained into rags, and they don’t seem to care a bit about any of it. For them, the beauty of the moment is enough.
The questions arrive like the birds. All the cyclic ways of nature – the emotions, the realizations – come rushing in with the new vitality and all the clumsiness of a new puppy.
I am gathering my thoughts for the next writing retreat, thinking of my ideas and how to make them visible. I take extra care to think about my clients and their needs.
A new season, with all its promise, breaks into the forefront of my imagination and makes me want to express what I feel, in any way that is possible.
In this season cycle, after going through so many difficulties during last year, I am – above all – grateful for the chance to begin again. Life feels new, and full, and I am stronger for having bent in the wind, like the grass.
As I feel the vulnerability, I also exult in all the freshness that the world is showing, and the eternal rhythms of nature’s messages.
Here, as the birds come in groups and the grasses begin to rise, the feeling of newness is so potent that it makes me feel raw and vulnerable in a way that lets me know I am truly alive.
What does spring mean for you?
Are you ready to rush out into the rain and gather the daffodils quickly, before the moisture makes them transparent and fragile, to rejoice in their yellowness? Does something stir in your soul that wants to come out and be known?
What does spring mean to you? Does spring fill you with a sense of hope and positivity? What are you planning to do this spring to celebrate a new year? Please join the conversation below.