Early Blackbird song

I'm a bit of a mess today; a bumpy sort of last two days have left me vulnerable to tearing up in frustration and anguish. What for, I cannot be certain. I'm happier to now be 26 than 25, and the weekend was filled with uplifting and validating experiences. The vulnerability stirs up anxiety over our next trip, anxiety that what may have to spill out in emotional self-expression will need to be kept simmering haphazardly as we carry out painting business. The unnaturalness of those situations drives me mad with premonitions about what it will be like to be so far from privacy and home. It's self-distrust, really; silly, unnerving, self-distrust.

In England it will be Spring, which will be wonderful. Like a little whisper to say that everything is alright, the green and growing things will be so comforting to me. Balancing on the edge of Winter, will bitter days and sweet days, snow, sunshine, and changing winds all collide together to finally agree on life and renewal? They always do. Day always follows night, for who could be more loving than the Lord, Whose Laws are reflected in the Laws of Nature, and Who grants us all the help and strength we need to ascend, so long as we ask for it. Such perfect Love I'll never be able to wrap my mind, my feeble emotions around. Here it will be Spring, too, but not before a few more steps, not before its time. It feels like the most vulnerable time of the year, so perhaps I'd better just allow myself to feel it, too, and not be afraid.