I sometimes sit staring outside, wondering what became of Spring, or the fake, funny, vernal tease we had a month ago. It was an enjoyable prelude to things that will come. I’ve taken it as an allegory for my current, present, now.
The purple tree out front has been holding onto its blooms for what seems like a month or more. Frozen in mid-transformation, it’s a cryogenic specimen of life waiting to spring eternal. For some artistic, mythic reason it has paused in its most beautiful and elegant form.
Normally, the temporary swing from Winter to Summer feels fleeting. The rebirth in all living things wants so desperately to spring forth, that their foot race to fruition blurs past us. I am honored to watch and enjoy the stop-motion photography taking place all around me.
This may not be a first — this lengthy, prolonged Spring — but it’s a first for me, sitting in my armchair as witness. I haven’t had the space or maybe the inclination in the past to sit still and see the stopwatch click on and click off.
Buds and bulbs push forth from me too. And as is happening with our climate, so too do the fits and starts keep me guessing. But it progresses nonetheless. Hope springs eternal and Spring eternally hopes.