Spring ideally lasts between March and May in our country. For most of us, there is a new trip or hobby or job on the horizon, although that horizon doesn't look quite clear right now. Personally, I can’t stop being bothered by the heat, and spring couldn’t feel further away. But spring is indeed here, it's happening anyway, and it's happening without us. To think we're given a finite number of springs in our lifetimes, and we'll never have more springs left than we do right now.
So while the weather forecast disagrees, I believe in holding onto the metaphor of spring- the light, the song, the rhyme. I still believe that we will step out the door and into our lives soon, with arms full of flowers. We will have places to be at, outfits to change, and people expecting us.
As you move from room to room & website to website; as all the things standing still continue to stand still- I hope you keep your days full, and if not brimming with possibility, then at least stirred with peace. To those of us stuck at home in less than ideal situations, and to those of us just feeling stuck- I send you a spring of art and poetry.
The truth is I don't want to think
about fragility anymore. I can't
handle a blown-glass season,
every grass blade and dogwood
so wreckable. I'm trying hard
to teach the infallibility
of nightlights, to ignore the revving
of my own fallible heart. Spring,
you're not helping. Go all in.
Throw your white blossoms
into my gutters. Flood
my garage, mud my new shoes,
leave me afternoon-streaked
and sweating. Vine yourself
around me. Hold me
to you. Tighter.
Catherine Pierce: Entreaty
Kevin Cutrer: The Flower Kissers
(after beija-flores, Portuguese for “hummingbirds”)
Agents of creation disturb the dust of vegetable desire. Their multiplying thirst
makes possible more blossoms, a world of flowering that as they drink pours forth from their devouring.