I saw the sun rise today. Not the sunrise, mind you - the everyday lightening of the sky with maybe some colorful clouds (as lovely as that is) - but the sun itself: A great orange wheel of fire climbing above the horizon, blazing through the trees and straight, it seemed, into my soul. Directly opposite, the moon rode high in the sky, argent in the dawn light. It struck me that it felt like a very long while since I'd seen a morning properly. I was driving to work at the time and, even though I was already cutting it close, I decided to detour to the slower route along the river. My best decision of the day.
Spring officially arrived a month or so ago, but I hardly need to point out that on the whole, it's been hard to believe it. Winter has clung stubbornly to the land, as well as to our spirits, if my own experience is anything to go by. We've been trapped in a waiting time, both listless and restless, harried by the growing pressure of the life all around us, and within us, longing but unable to leap forth into beauty and motion and joy.
The past few days, I've felt that the time has come at last. I will gladly take today's triumphant celestial display - along with the green grass, blooming flowers, frolicking wildlife and bursting leaf buds that it caused me to see on an otherwise dull Thursday commute - as confirmation of this.
I have thrown myself into the garden and the apothecary with gleeful abandon, welcoming the feel of dirt and plants against my skin; their rich scent enfolding me. Reveling, too, in the flow of creativity, the clarity of perception, and the quiet elation at our intertwined journeys that have finally returned in full measure.
I think Edna St. Vincent Millay put it well:
"Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I
And hailed the earth with such a cry
As is not heard save from a man
Who has been dead, and lives again.
About the trees my arms I wound;
Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;
I raised my quivering arms on high;
I laughed and laughed into the sky."
My heart is full of light, and I hope yours is too. Happy Spring.
Spring officially arrived a month or so ago, but I hardly need to point out that on the whole, it's been hard to believe it. Winter has clung stubbornly to the land, as well as to our spirits, if my own experience is anything to go by. We've been trapped in a waiting time, both listless and restless, harried by the growing pressure of the life all around us, and within us, longing but unable to leap forth into beauty and motion and joy.
The past few days, I've felt that the time has come at last. I will gladly take today's triumphant celestial display - along with the green grass, blooming flowers, frolicking wildlife and bursting leaf buds that it caused me to see on an otherwise dull Thursday commute - as confirmation of this.
I have thrown myself into the garden and the apothecary with gleeful abandon, welcoming the feel of dirt and plants against my skin; their rich scent enfolding me. Reveling, too, in the flow of creativity, the clarity of perception, and the quiet elation at our intertwined journeys that have finally returned in full measure.
I think Edna St. Vincent Millay put it well:
"Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I
And hailed the earth with such a cry
As is not heard save from a man
Who has been dead, and lives again.
About the trees my arms I wound;
Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;
I raised my quivering arms on high;
I laughed and laughed into the sky."
My heart is full of light, and I hope yours is too. Happy Spring.