Being Spring

When I woke up one morning a few weeks ago, I started thinking about spring and how beautiful it is, things I’ve thought for so many springs, that they have become almost habitual. Suddenly a new thought formed for me.

This year, I think I’ll be spring. What would that look like? What would it feel like?

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I am a hard seed, lying in the cold, frozen ground. The snow begins to melt; the ground thaws. Rainwater seeps around me. I drink it in through my dehydrated skin and swell. The skin thins, stretches, and pulls apart and I stretch beyond the old coat. I reach out for something to hold onto. I stretch and look for sunlight. I grow.

Sun warms me and gifts me with his light. I am green with the light-born energy and I dance on the gusty winds of the season. Sun sets and Moon reflects her beauty in the dew drops poised on my leaves.

In dawn’s light, my brothers and sisters and I bob our heads expectantly, like baby birds waiting for the meal their parents will bring to nurture them. The sun’s light fills us. We grow.

Our roots hold us intact. Our stems hold us upright. We breathe in what we need and breathe out what we cannot use. Bugs nibble at our leaves, but that is okay; we have plenty to give. Our flowers bud, then bloom. Bees and butterflies get their fill and so we nurture others.

And spring will become summer.

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