When Spring Comes
On lament and joy
When Spring Comes
Easter. A chill in the air, rain
drizzles from puffed up clouds.
No sunshine here, only the grey
of disappointment. Still, I put
on my new green dress, attend
the Sunday service, eat chocolate
mousse whose lightness lifts the dull day
into something sweet, something
memorable. My birthday gift.
The next year I move South
and Easter is what it should be,
bright and warm and singing with
all the promise of new life. Spring
arrives just as the calendar says
it will. No more chill.
Grey days are silver, electric with
the possibility of a thunderstorm.
I sit on the front porch with my dad,
watch lightning flash,
rain pour and pour until
a rainbow arcs high in the sky
lifting the day into something sweet,
something memorable. A new gift.
When Spring comes, clear out the
cobwebs of depression, put on
your new dress. Stroll beneath
grey and rainbows, kiss
purple tulip fairy castles,
converse with pink azaleas,
a quilt of color lifting the day
into something sweet,
something memorable. A perfect gift.
Creative Invitation
Today I invite you on a pilgrimage of memory. Select two to three moments in your life around the start of spring. How did you feel? What dichotomy did you experience? Write, doodle, or draw the interplay of dynamic opposites and see what wisdom hindsight has to offer.
Prayer
Godde Who Holds It All, when our personal and collective lives feel like too much to bear, help us create space. Let us not turn away from the difficult and yet not be overcome with despair. Help us to see and cultivate joy, not as a means of forgetting or ignoring, but as the glorious birthright of being alive. When we lament, when we are filled with awe at the gifts of life, we steep ourselves in the fullness of created and creative living. For this, we give thanks.
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