March is a month of drama, as waking spring winds try to chase out the cold winter spirits. Sun, rain, snow, sun, wind, hail, sun, ice...the dance plays out. Part of me loves its fierceness and unpredictability.
March is a cusp time, a time of stirring and resettling. Newly arrived birds flap and chirp, sorting out nesting spots. Crocuses assert themselves through holdout patches of snow. Temperatures rise and fall like the wind, and life wakes up again, yawning and stretching and shrugging out the knots from its long stillness.
But I like to think that this infant season unfurls from a quiet seed of light, planted in the heart of winter. When all is still, turned in on itself, waiting, the light casts its deepest shadow, and the world dreams of its next waking.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
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