It’s the first of March.
The dawn of spring has already begun to break winter’s dark night. The sky in the east grows lighter; a pale glow giving shape and depth and life to the quiet and dark world.
Beneath the snow, the colours of the day ahead still sleep, quiet and cold, waiting for their moment to rise and shine.
And I miss writing.
My life is full, of course – perhaps even too full. It’s always full, because I love to feel productive even more than I hate to feel idle. But I love to write, and I miss it, and life is too short and too dreary to sacrifice creative expression at the expense of ‘productivity’ (whatever that means).
So, as the small tree stretches and yawns with the forthcoming of spring and the time to bud, to bloom, and to grow, I see the time as ripe for rebirth, renewal, and growth.
I recently learned that a tree grows from the inside out, effectively replacing its core each year, and pushing the past year(s) away. I love the idea of growth from the inside out. Certainly the past influences the path into the future, as old experiences limit the tree’s capacity to grow as it otherwise might. But the present is not built upon the past. It is instead built from the seed of life, and creates the reality in which the past comes to be defined. It seems a shame that we are socialized to see ourselves as products of our past, rather than definers of it.
Spring is almost here: a season for new beginnings. I’m excited to write again.
Peace and love.