The sun crests the ridge line illuminating golden willow tips, crisp reflections perfect in the still water. In the pale blue above contrails that last begin their slow spread into cloud. The quiet of of a late winter morning yearning into the force of spring calling holds so much promise. I just want to sit and soak it up, watch it, feel it fully. Oh that chill which will slowly melt away into warmth is the dance of a perfect day!
I finally feel I am living in the season I am in. I let myself sink towards the darkness, begin the slow drift, once the summer solstice has passed....which in years past I considered on winter solstice. No wonder the feeling of spring was so harsh. Like having a light turned on in the middle of the night. Once I came to terms with summer ushering in winter over the long arc of the year, well, the return to the light begins in the darkest night...and I let myself be carried back.
I feel new seeds sprouting in my life, in my soul. Possibility still exists. I find myself wanting to know what possibilities my friend Ruthie is living in to now. She is in her 94th year. How does she experience the riotous calling of spring now?
I finally feel I am living in the season I am in. I let myself sink towards the darkness, begin the slow drift, once the summer solstice has passed....which in years past I considered on winter solstice. No wonder the feeling of spring was so harsh. Like having a light turned on in the middle of the night. Once I came to terms with summer ushering in winter over the long arc of the year, well, the return to the light begins in the darkest night...and I let myself be carried back.
I feel new seeds sprouting in my life, in my soul. Possibility still exists. I find myself wanting to know what possibilities my friend Ruthie is living in to now. She is in her 94th year. How does she experience the riotous calling of spring now?
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