The Watchful Spring

Shorts

 

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Blink, and you might miss it. Spring is in full swing, and what an arch that swing creates. Its momentous motion.  Its vigor. Its desperate lust.

The forest floor crawls with growth. Trilliums blooming in trillions. Bleeding Hearts weeping their lavender colored flowers in hoards. The Mock Orange Vine reaches rapidly above my head and looks down upon me with its orange, trumpeted grin. Flattened ferns from the Winter’s snow emerge, unraveling and crowning the understory with its primordial foliage.

Spring does not wait for the weary. It is the fullness of potential erupting into the calamity of life as the savior of the wandering and lost. It is the aimed arrow that flies true. It is the antithesis of sin. Shame is thrown to the wind, and vitality shimmers in the air, settling on new ground.

The pollinators generate an ambient buzz heard stretched across the valleys. The palatable sweet rain is quenched by roots on high demand, as costly reproductive signals flood those same valleys. The wild dance of Spring leaps, abounding into the longing days. The pace is rattling. Overwhelming the senses. Dizzying the mind.

Blink, and you might miss it.