From Winter into Spring

Spring on the forest floor.

The ravines are running with water now.  Oh, joyous sound!  And there's little green things popping up all over the ground.  The tips of trees are swollen with buds, and frogs serenade the moon.

A gaggle of turkeys sauntered by in the early morning the other day; so riotous was their squabbling I didn't recognize the sound. I un-zipped my window to find the cause of such commodium, as only weeks earlier they passed in a whisper, shrouded in a cough of wintry air.

I cavort with the maple now.  I press my lips to her bark, wet even on a dry day, and taste clear, sweet fluid running up her spine.  Spring is warming the toes of trees and me, and I am breathing a very deep sigh of relief.

Perhaps I didn't do this winter the best way possible, eh?  Perhaps other routes may have been better than living in a tent in the woods!  But that's the haught of hindsight talking; she'll convince me of anything; convince me not to leap for anything hopeful lurking beyond the light of reason, past reach of convention, for dreams I cannot find elsewhere but in the dark, after leaping.

First winter in Whisperwood.

Perhaps I should've planned, she says. 

Well, I did.  But my life is so straddled by plans as to be suffocating.  If I can think it, do it.  If I can't, don't.  Cut short, I've been, by what I perceive, and limited, I am, by what I can't. Thus, and being generally overwhelmed by plans, and having to make them ALL, and what if they fail, fall short, I proceeded without them, as best I could, without a current set of directions, and Am I Glad!

Cold Kitchen.

I have learned, Am Learning, there is enough Love in the world to cover the lack.

There are enough friends, time, community, talent; there is enough courage.  The important thing is to try.

I'm learning that the Way does not always have to clear; some frailty of endeavor, some muddiness of thought is okay, provided intention is true.  I'm learning that not every single thing has to be figured out ahead of time, all the time.

I began this journey with great trepidation, cowering with scary what ifs looming in my quaking skull; what if I don't finish by winter, what if it gets too cold, what if a bear comes into my tent, what if the rains wash me off the cliff in the night, what if, WHAT IF!

I began anyway.

And I'm still here, nearly a year later, and Yes, it got too cold, but I had places I could go, and friends; and No, the bears didn't maul me in my tent; they're too busy digging roots and taking naps; No, the snakes — they didn't curl up by my feet in the down of my sleeping bag, though I wouldn't mind if they did; they only want to be warm.  No, I've not been stung by anything I didn't accidentally squash; and no tree has fallen on me yet.  Yes, I'm surrounded by strong trees.

My quaking in the night has done me little good, I find, so I'm shedding this old skin of mine.   I'm letting go of fear in time for springtime thaw; drinking deep and letting loose of ordered structures interfering with creative light.  I gaze into the warming sun and feel such joy; Yes, I am here for little else than for the Joy of Here; no other reason than pure, unfettered Joy.

Spring in the forest trees.

So I say, Welcome Spring!  Welcome Sun!  Welcome soft and fuzzy stems of green and purple feathery things upon the ground, and white fluttery, paper blooms high up in the trees!  Welcome wasps!  Welcome bees!  Welcome footfalls soft near mossy trees!

Again I say it, Sing it, Shout!  Welcome All!  Welcome Spring!

Happy Spring, Everyone!!!