Rain-soaked greening

The chorus of unfolding green has begun to sound too vociferously to distinguish separate effort from separate effort. So begins the yearly surround of Nature,when we humans become lost and outnumbered by its lively greatness. The elder buds are unfolding like healing hands raised in praise for their Creator. The bugs appear; flocks of choosy young bees forage almost bewildered amongst the sudden bounty of blooming bulbs. Cats are routinely trapped in the coldframe - caught unawares in their afternoon nap when the hydraulic arm of the entrance closes with the slackening temperature.

At the end of the day I’m sad again, and wanting something, some sort of recognition this time, some sort of wanting to be wanted. I seem to be in the throws of a battle with caked emotion. My face is changing even, my eyes, the way my nose is set off, the curve of neck against cheek. It’s as if layers of mud had accumulated in the angular places of my body, guarding against bumps, depositing like silt in the able crevices. Emotion seems to want to run away with me, stir me up into an unrecognizable whipped mass and take me out on misadventures. Beneath the heaving swells, though, the real part of me continues to whisper quietly: you never really have to worry about the things that obsess you now, you always just have to be yourself, to the truest manifestation you were capable of. Each leaf uncurling in an ordered step, and each moment and phase of growth succinct, willing to be what it is, willing to be only half-way, a quarter-way to where we humans expect legitimacy to take hold. Living is so much bigger than we allow ourselves to conceive, so much grander and diverse, delicate and noble. So much more forgiving, really, much more forgiving towards me than myself, much more kind. And I think I’m looking for kindness, pure simple kindness I can understand.

The garden has sprouted, and little files of grassy spinach toes the line like soldiers departing on a campaign to bring happiness. The forces of Wind, Water, Sun, and Earth are all colliding headlong into the ancient Season of Beltane; the point of no return, Spring has come, and Summer shall soon begin, and Winter has been thoroughly banished by the happiness of regeneration and growth. My own personal Beltane approaches, tentatively, yet irrevocably, and like the tiny garden seeds, I’m happy to grow.