Spring has returned but why do I feel this hesitation? Have I become too used to the safe hibernation of winter where nothing but survival is expected? Spring tells us to shed our layers, crawling out of our dark chrysalis, new wings drying in the sun. But there is that part of me which wants to stay hidden, torn by that certain dread I feel. Like Janus, spring gives us births and deaths, beginnings and endings at the very same time. So, is it fear I feel of new growth, of the budding green leaves and the promise of lavish flowers? Today, as if the world hears me, the thawing lake ice reflects the storm-growth color of the sky and the fields are barren and cold. This I can bear. But a sweet, scent of rain is hinted in the air and the press of the earth is soft underfoot and birdsong colors the edges of the morning light making me sigh. They intrude upon me; they take me hostage at last. And how can I resist?
spring moon-- something gone a-flowering on the inside, too