5 Mar

Today the birds and flowers and green buds finally showed their face in little patches, just when the days seem to stretch out longer and fatter and fuller, pregnant days each heavy to bursting.

And though nothing has specifically changed in my world, I know things are growing and changing and altering there in ways that are much faster under the surface.  

I’ve been told that one should never rush change, that things move from place to place beyond my individual capabilities, and where I end up is where I end up.  Also, that if I’m always looking where I’m going, I’ll never enjoy where I am.

I understand that.  However, is it so wrong that my blood is singing lately, that beauty doesn’t seem buried, for once under a thousand layers, that for once I have things to say, and I can say them well, and things are bound to fall into place.  I feel like I can see the light after a great amount of time kept away from it, and I am aware like any emotional state, this one too will fade back into the normal concrete and sepia that fill my ordinary days.  

Yet, don’t the marching robins in the park, the individual clouds drifting over the city, the thousand kinds of weather a day can hold, don’t the mean something?  Don’t they have something?  And nature’s push to bloom, to burst, to break open, to fan out in green, reaching with incredible strain, with incredible beauty.

Maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to fade back into the sepia and concrete for a while longer this time.  Maybe never.  

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