The blackbirds coat echo’s off the hawthorn, its buds sit in waiting, this years leaves curled up inside.
Down below birds bounce on their feeder while daffodils and crocus and bluebell show themselves over ground, their heads fastened, their greening stalks increasing in size with each new dawning.
It’s February and an awakening is occurring in my garden as the sun rises earlier and earlier, her arms lengthening her grasp.
Her daylight calling out to all, allowing everyone and everything dream of a new.
Soon my garden bench will be pulled out from the sanctuary of the garden shed, its winter hibernation over and instead of taking to the varying views from behind my window panes, ill be able to sit outside and feel and see first hand the abundant changes within my world.
Of course, those on the outer fringes looking in have already begun their spring rituals. Comments of “Oh, Spring will help perk you up” and “The warming weather will help you” have begun.
I used to try and educate, to explain, to remind those tongues, that no, spring doesn’t change my symptoms, just as winter doesn’t change them either but I gave up.
Facing into my sixth spring, I do so aware of this broken body, aware of the limits but focused on the positives, just as I did during winter and autumn and summer and the spring before.
As with everything, especially where humans are involved, there are spaces for complication but I fill those gaps with the simple and so distance myself from those tongues. As for spring itself, meteorologists cite springs arrival on March 1st, however astronomically speaking spring is February 1st.
Within this small space of earth one things for sure, spring has arrived.