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Friday, November 04, 2011

spring

Today was a glorious day. All sun and blue sky and light breeze and green trees and birds singing. Spring might truly be here. Or possibly summer is poking its head up, since I'll grudgingly admit that (despite the cool days) signs of spring have been around for quite a while now.

Spring was huge for me this year. I'm not sure if it was a one off, but winter was hard. Not any more miserable or cold than usual, just winter being winter. However for me, it was a bit of a slog. I missed bike riding. The few times I ventured out, I froze or nearly passed out shortly afterwards, so I gave up and settled for motoring around. A pall of grey seemed to settle over me. Depression? Seasonal affective disorder? Perhaps. Whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant, and spring could not come soon enough.

As spring crept its way through the wintriness, I drank it all in. Darling buds poking up from the ground, barren trees blanketed in leaf burst, blackbirds singing, plants experiencing exponential growth spurts, stealthy warmth, twilight lingering longer and longer every day. I've embraced the spread of spring and experienced an echoing thaw in my heart.

The most touching thing for me this year has been the lush, green growth on trees. At times it has moved me to tears, and at the very least it has refreshed my soul. It's also got me to musing.

I often walk through Launceston's many beautiful parks and notice the leaf buds. 'Nubile' always pops into my head when I see the first flush of green, although I know it isn't the most appropriate word, referring to the sexual maturity of young women rather than the lush growth of trees. Maybe my mind links the newness of spring leaves, so pure and unadulterated and completely lacking in artifice, with the fresh innocence of youthful girls. Whatever the connection, for me, trees in spring encapsulate the joyfulness and energy of life producing new life.

And I want to be like that. I've been experiencing a winter of the soul for a while now, but I want to be like a spring tree. No matter how old they are, every year they produce fresh, young, tender growth, unblemished and unharmed by life. I want to do that - no matter that I'm getting older and fighting off creeping cynicism - I want to put out new growth that is soft and gentle and lush.

Spring. As the earth around me transforms itself, let me be transformed with it.





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