So it's always with joy that I meet the first early signals of the coming spring. Already there are crocuses breaking the earth, blossoms opening, and snowdrops fully grown. I respond to these small stirrings viscerally. There's something about the first shoots of green testing the still chilly air that makes me want to break out into a run. It feels like we've all come through something. It feels important to have survived the darkest nights and the rainiest days. I wanted to touch each fragile blossom I passed on my walk home today. Goodbye winter. I pay homage to the necessity of the darkness, but look forward with joy to the light.
I'm reminded of Rilke's great fascination with the world around him and his desire to experience a kind of deep seeing. In The Book of Hours he addresses Nature:
Dear darkening ground,
you've endured so patiently the walls we've built,
perhaps you'll give the cities one more hour
and grant the churches and cloisters two.
And those that labor--will you let their work
grip them another five hours, or seven,
before you become forest again, and water, and widening wilderness
in that hour of inconceivable terror
when you take back your name
from all things.
Just give me a little more time!
I want to love the things
as no one has thought to love them,
until they're worthy of you and real.
I want only seven days, seven
on which no one has ever written himself--
seven pages of solitude.
The turning of the season tends to remind me how quickly time passes and how brief my opportunity to truly see the things of this world. I feel some of Rilke's intensity, and his desire to love, when I stumble upon the first tentative openings, and the hint of warmth in the air.
Here are some images that I took today of the very first hints of winter's decline:
|Snowdrops. January 2015. Copyright Andrea Paterson|
|Blossoms in January. 2015. Copyright Andrea Paterson|
|Stirring. January 2015. Copyright Andrea Paterson|