It Is Spring

In general, I consider myself to be a fairly good driver. I don’t speed. I’m aware of others on the road. I never block intersections. I switch lanes when I’m in the way. I always let people in. I never honk unless it’s to say hello.

But on days like today, the first day of spring, I have to constantly move my eyes away from distractions. The trees seem to have burst into pink overnight. They make me think of playing cards painting the roses red. They are that perfect and magical. Over and over they try to pull me into their trap of attention as I drive by. Over and over I have to tear myself away from their soft, tangled beauty.

All spring – and all your life, if you are willing – the earth will call to you in colors and music and words. It will be full of wonder and it will be wonderful. It will pull you away from your daily routines, your struggles and your worries, and remind you that there is time again for change. It will offer you a gift that is nameless, but is something close to understanding. It will show you that there is no such thing as ordinary. There is only this. There is only the way the seasons come and go, over and over, forever.

The first day of spring means free water ice at Rita’s, and who am I turn down such sweetness? So I went and stood in line.

I watched as two geese flew overhead, mirror images of one another, proof that no one should have to go through this life alone. I was the only one to look up, to follow them across the sky until they drifted out of sight, into the unknown. No one else noticed them. No one else watched the depths of understanding that rose and fell in the perfect unison of their four flapping wings. No one else felt this love but me.

I thought of the many different ways there are to approach this world, how we can be in the same place at the same time and have completely different experiences. I thought of the way our minds are made of the same matter, but can somehow work so dissimilarly. I thought of flowers, and the way they grow from the same soil, but somehow become so singular, each with its own unique scents and secrets pooled within the core of its blossom. I thought of the way we are all both ordinary and extraordinary, all at once, all the time.

And as I drove away with my mango water ice, already melting in the warmth of spring, I had to remind myself to focus on the road, the task at hand, because all around me grew ideas that called to me. All around me the world opened to golden, shining light. All around me the pink trees sang of love.

Tonight, the scent of barbeque wafts through my open windows. I rub my naked toes against each other. Spring is unfolding. I accept her gifts as they come.

I watch the night descend on the pink petals of the trees, these wild and wise ornaments of the earth. I listen to the life outside my house, the people running and jumping and yelling through the streets, leading lives both so similar and so different from my own. I hear the earth call to me its simple, silly joy. It is ordinary and extraordinary. It is spring, over and over, forever.

Dancing with the Daffodils

They’re early, of course, because of the unseasonably warm weather. Still, it feels right that it’s the first day of March and the daffodils have begun to bloom. They are some of my favorites.

Each spring I am delighted by the sight of their happy, yellow faces. I am in love with those little cups and saucers, filled with pools of nectar, waiting openly for the bees.

As a child I confused their name with acrobats (no doubt it was the three syllables, the “o” in the middle), and felt constant frustration with my mother for not seeing what I was pointing out. “Look! Acrobats!” I would cry. No one could see what I saw.

This morning I see their ruffled edges tossing and turning in the breeze. I see the way they have opened their bowls of sweetness, early perhaps, but not a moment too soon. I see the way every year they arrive, accomplished, blossoming into light.

And when you see anything, it leads you to see more and more. Like the way each spring the earth rediscovers laughter, and fills my garden with its colorful giggling. Like the way the daffodils rise, without ambition or fear or doubt. Like the way they simply continue to grow, from the deepest parts of their being, because it is their purpose to do so. I see they are alive, but also, I see their life, sprung from seeds of happiness, shimmering softly, like gold.

It is not officially spring, but I could believe it is. I could believe this new month is also a new season, and a new beginning. I could believe the morning light slipping in front of the stars represents more than the rotation of the earth. I could look into these happy, yellow faces and believe in something like a soul. I could. Most mornings, I do.

If I had another life, I would want to spend it like the daffodils. I would want my face to open each morning in a wild, eager way. I would want to be a cup filled with sweetness. I would want to wait patiently for others to drink me in. I would want to offer what I could – patience, happiness, light. I would want to be an example of joy.

I would want some child to confuse me with acrobats. I would be that exciting, that deserving of attention and praise. I would be bright like the sun. I would shimmer like gold. I would look like laughter. I wouldn’t worry or fear or hurry too soon into the changing seasons. I would just continue to grow from the seeds of my happiness because it is my purpose to do so. I would just blossom into light.

Most mornings, I do.

Because I don’t have another life. I have this one. And it is foolish to spend it wondering how long it will last, and then what, or what other lives may have been. It is foolish to look at these happy, yellow faces and see anything but a reflection of myself. I will rise and bloom again and again, until eventually, finally, I become the earth. Until then, why not shine?

It is a new month. It feels like a new season. I look at the daffodils and want to believe that their arrival means more than the unexpected warmth. I want to believe that they have opened their faces to a new beginning for us all.

And this morning, I do.

Over The Rainbow

It was spring. The trees blossomed. The flowers bloomed. The bright sun beckoned to us. “Come out. Feel my warmth. Enjoy this day.” And so we did. My mother took us to the arboretum and we spent the entire afternoon among the trees and flowers, delighting in their sweetness. I was young.

Still, I remember the impulse. I remember feeling so surrounded and consumed with the beauty of the world. I remember that first recognition of happiness, in its purest form. I remember wanting to mark the occasion.

And so I ran. I ran hard and I ran fast. I ran in a way that was exclusive to my childhood – not for exercise, not as stress relief, not away from something – but in a pure, primal way that required no thought or motivation. I remember that feeling well, that freedom, that urge to move my little legs just because I could, just because it felt good, just because I was young and it was spring.

I reached the top of a hill and stood there looking down at my mother and the rest of the world. I looked up at the sky. I thought I could almost touch it.

And because I hadn’t yet learned to write, I sang. I sang strong and I sang loud. I sang in a way that was exclusive to my childhood – before I had learned to become self-conscious of such things. I sang because it felt good, because I was young, and it was spring.

And so my little lungs filled with air, and my little mouth formed the words, and I serenaded my mother, and the rest of the world, with Somewhere Over The Rainbow. It was the perfect song for that perfect moment, and I remember knowing that even as a child. I remember the way I sang and felt everything else fade away. I remember believing that there was such a place, a land that I heard of once in a lullaby, where dreams that I dared to dream really do come true. I remember thinking, maybe this was it.

Somewhere over the rainbow, all days would be this perfect. Somewhere over the rainbow, I could stay like this forever. Somewhere over the rainbow, trees would always blossom and flowers would always bloom. I would always be young and in love with the world. It would always be spring.

And the thing is, after all of this time spent learning the painful lessons of what it means to be alive, after all of these years chasing down courage and a heart and a brain, after discovering over and over again that they were with me all along, I still find myself thinking, maybe this is it.

Maybe the happy little birds chirping outside my window right now have already flown over the rainbow. Maybe that I woke up with the clouds far behind me, the breathtakingly blue sky of this day welcoming me into it, means that I have already arrived. Maybe this is where troubles melt like lemon drops. Maybe I could stay like this, forever.

Maybe I will always delight in such sweetness. I will always blossom and bloom. I will always be that little girl, running and singing and almost touching the sky. Because it feels good, and I am young, and it is spring. Because if birds can do it, why then, oh why, can’t I?