“Springtime is the land awakening. The March winds are the morning yawn.”
Sleepy Winter cast aside. White blankets that padded down our cold nights, now evaporate into fluffy clouds rushing through blue skies like spring break traffic. Deprived of Green and vitamin D, our cravings are now met as immediate gratification in touches and waves of sunshine and breaths of air. Saying “See me. Spring. My sleepy eyes are opening.”
My heart is opening. In uncertain and abnormal hope. I do not claim to know where I am going but I’m willing to work my way forward. I think I’m breathing.
Wind + Sun
In March my life is just a blur
of all the things that I have heard
The shadow of a dawning spring
The wind casts in lights echoing
For future’s all that I’ve lived for
Threaded hope and doom
In realization sorrows pass
if only you can get a grasp
This realization comes to be
in March a wind chime symphony
With winter wind and summer sun
Contentment in unknown is won
Yet in this breath we would seem
a pawn in life’s unruly scheme
I wish not to rest in a man made bed, but nature be where I lay my head. When the things man makes like houses or machines get abandoned, run down, or messy, nature takes them back.
I’m sure you’ve seen an abandoned house or a picture of those old creepy amusement parks where in human’s absence, over growth has completely taken up residence. It’s even how life works, when our bodies stop pumping and lay in absolute stillness, nature takes us back to the earth. The depiction of a messy bed: it becomes more so until flowers are growing “out of its ears”. I think I wish life were the reality of that. That no matter how messy my life got I knew that just meant little plants would grow in those areas. But really, that is truth and is a metaphor for how life shapes us. if we take the advice of the vines growing on the side of an old house, we will start to grow in places we thought were unrepairable. Life is messy. Through and through. Yet when we let our soul flowers grow on the old messy bricks of change, though they be uncertain, I think that might just be beauty from ashes. Yes, bloom where you are planted, but give yourself permission to bloom where you thought only desolation and abandonment could reside. Let’s all take a tip from nature.
“The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep” – Robert Frost
(Tulip photos by Lily Miller)
If life and art danced together
their silhouette would be the outline of a