It was a snowy spring morning here in Dayton, Ohio. 6 inches of wet snow embraced every twig, every leaf, every last-season's-stalk, still standing until the upcoming thaw. Equal opportunity snow with a light energy for a substance so heavy. The branches, temporarily bowing under the weight, seemed to understand the late season freeze. The view from my living room window: breathtaking.
It's the kind of scene that brings an instant sense of peace, even after grimacing over the prospect of snow on March 24th. It's in those early morning moments that quiet is full of promise.
After a few minutes of standing at the window with my dogs, sipping my hot coffee and preparing my head for the day, I heard that beautiful morning sound that trumps any alarm, a sound that speaks volumes about the great process of nature: bird song. Ahhh. It's like punctuation for the quiet. We listen for a moment or two, the dogs getting pumped up to play and the Jean mimicking the birds, trying in my feeble way to respond! For those Dr. Seuss enthusiasts, it's like winter is the Grinch and the birds are the Whos, singing,
Fah who for-aze! Dah who dor-aze!
Welcome Springtime! Come this way!
Yes, yes, but I digress.(grin).
There is a phenomenal peace in the tension between seasons, the knowing and not knowing, the expectations simmering, just below the surface. The change is coming, but it's not here yet. Or is it? When we think we know what we want, what we need, when we're tired of the absence of that which we wait and wait and wait for, only to find it already here, (like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, finding the power she always had) Nature is an insightful partner, full of surprises, full of hope. Season change is the ultimate symbol for recycling: the best use of the old to make the new. Rebirth is Light energy, replacing the heaviness that once felt impossible to hold.
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