Word Church – Spring Edition

The words in bold are from the list my writing group compiled and are the springboard for this post.

I feel myself limping my way into spring. I like the hibernation of winter. Nature’s wooing one to bed, early, moonshine for a night light and guilt-free since there’s no lawn to mow, no seeds to sow.

I feel the dissonance of sunshine and daffodil blooms crash against my melancholic urge to stay put. In moments like this, it’s hard to remember that this too shall pass.

Five years ago, I cut off all my hair–two years divorced and still laying claim to who I was as an individual. I felt expansive, free, unfettered. No need for a blow drier, maybe just a squirt of gel, this lack of hair gave me back minutes of time in the morning. At the time, I couldn’t imagine ever having long or longer hair again. I also couldn’t fathom that a global pandemic would constrict our lives in such a way that haircuts would become unnecessary sojourns outside the bear’s den of my home.

Never say never.

I am grateful for my change of heart, the time for my hair to grow and to recognize an earlier version of myself with a few alterations that mark the passing of time–a wider band of silver framing my face. Softer creases around my eyes, and a wrinkly neck.

I am reminded that the trajectories of life are never a straight line, but ones that bend and curve and bend again into a spiral. I see my life from the same vantage point only a few degrees different. And those few deviations can be the difference between broken and whole, misunderstanding and clarity, complex and simple.

I forced myself out into the sunshine today with my dog by my side. I need my legs and lungs to remember how to find a comfortable stride and move air and energy in cooperation after many months of stagnation. I needed to remember how it feels to be infused with endorphins, to exit the echo chamber of my mind. I am in the liminal space between winter’s freeze and spring’s blossoming.

I delight in small things: a glass of grapefruit juice, a package from a friend, a text from someone who loves me.

If I don’t push myself too hard, I know that I will get a grip and sink my hands into the cool potting soil rich with promise and plans. No season–in nature or spirit–last forever. Retreat as in rest also to step back from is such a part of my nature. I must trust my rhythms and take each moment as it comes.

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