Go out into the world:
Go! Yes, you — though you are fearful and fragile and small.
Go broken-winged and bent-boned and beauty-starved… Lovesick. Stardrunk. Skydizzy.
Or go sharp-eyed and sober, if that’s how it is — the hunger for the light a clenched fist in your stomach. A hand, opening slowly in your chest like a flower.
If you are frightened, use it.
If you are desperate, use it.
Let the jitter and snap of your fear drive you scrambling up the cliff. Grasp the sudden handle of the crescent moon, and haul and kick your way to the top.
Go! Go by sea or land or air, or in the unfettered flight of your dreams. Go alone, if you must. Drag us with you, if you can.
Just go. And keep on going…
Yes, you. ❤
When the thaw happens, it happens all at once.
Almost two months ago now.
We go walking in the woods: me, T and two dear friends. New-fallen snow lines every limb and leaf. The light is pale silver; the air cold, but not too cold.
Like Winter is making up its mind.
We have the dogs with us, and they go tearing through the underbrush ahead, leaping and yelping with delight. We watch them kicking up mud and wet leaves, blackening their muzzles, and we can’t help but laugh.
After awhile, I let the others go ahead of us, chasing down the dogs, and I hang back on the trail, just looking.
The forest is profoundly quiet — the deep quiet you only hear after it snows — and I push back the furry hood of my coat just to listen to that emptiness.
I stand there for a few moments. I’m waiting for something without knowing what.
And then it comes: the thaw.
Almost all at once, the air temperature must tick up a half a degree or two, because suddenly all the snow dotting the branches liquifies. Tiny dewdrops spangle every twig.
And then — oh, God! — the sun. It stabs a long scar in the clouds and comes tearing through in solid gold bars: shooting through the treetops. Bouncing off the trunks. Catching and sizzling in the million dewdrops.
Setting them all on fire.
And now I am sitting here, months later, trying to put it into words: how paper-thin the membrane, between the dark and the light. The cold and the flame.
How fragile the cold.
How fierce and strong the Spring.
How deep and wide the joy, when at last — at last — it comes.
Happy Spring, friends. I think we made it. ❤
Can I tell you something?
Can I say it here — now — before the noise of the week presses in and drowns out my words?
Oh, friend. Hear me: this world is full of magic. And I believe the best magic waits for those of us who see things a little differently.
There’s mystery for those of us willing to stand on our heads to see the sky …
For those willing to get on our knees — the gesture of prayer — to look closely:
And closer still:
Dear friend: I hope you take a little time to marvel at the world around you today.
Marvel standing on your hands…
Marvel praying on your knees…
Marvel with your lens pressed to the leaves…
Whatever you do, just marvel. ❤