When Spring Finds Us

Dear dreamer, we owe no promises to January, whose two-faced gaze still lingers on the closing door of last year while eyeing the current. I imagine December is an old friend from which he never wishes to part. Every story of growth features a sentimental longing, even yours.

I hope you are not expecting blossoms when frost clings to the earth and eager roots are stifled within the metamorphosis of our world. There is a time for everything, even nothing.

Wintering is a careful labor. It begs compassion for vines that are still rooted and remembrance of ones that must be sown again. In the thawing, we shall free ourselves of last year’s stubborn suckers who took and never fruited.

Here and now, we must follow the seasons, not only the turning of our calendar. So, when we meet January, let us embrace him like a newcomer lost in our village. Let us show him the kindness of a warm hearth, a place to lay his weary head and not lose sleep about what is next.

Rest a moment. We will know it eventually.

If you feel like January, still pondering the past while facing tomorrow, uncertain in the ebb and flow of perpetual change, that’s okay. This is only our first step.

February waits by the next door. May she cleanse us of disappointment over the feats we haven’t accomplished so we can explore this year, freshly renewed. I hope you discover the courage to build slow plans for long-lasting change.

Dreamer, if perhaps you have sheltered a small pot of fertile earth on your counter, unwilling to watch the best of last year wilt away, I pray you always gather a little light to keep your harbored hopes alive.

And when spring finds us with March, may we uncover our flourishing passions so they can unravel under the warmhearted sun. Then, perhaps we can make promises like June, blessing summer with all the fruits of our careful labors.

Let us not leave too much of ourselves in the soil.

***

poems with kindred spirits: