Winter's spell is lifting. The sun finds our heads as we open doors and tumble into the outside. Shedding coats we see for the first time small legs that have grown. Whittled wrists pushing out of sleeves. Older bits of children, facing the sun. The earth swarms. Unfurling. Everything on the edge of open. Every tip of every tree on fire. Every.little.thing.waiting, buzzing under my feet. I stuff it greedily in my pocket. Hungry to remember everything that's passed, I whirl my grandmother's ring around my finger. Knowing new yields old. Birth bows to spirits passing. The sky's so blue it puts an X on my heart. A saturated, blinding reminder to be grateful. Honor what grows. Listen to every bleat. Give the smallest of things a chance. I tuck it all under my pillow. The smell of mud, the early sun, tender grass at my feet, and feeling of dusk once again on my skin. A small bit of me reborn. Healed. And hold my breath 'til the morning, praying it will be the same ------ spring.
Please continue the blog circle on “What ____ looks like.”… with the work of the lovely Summer Murdock up next.