A Meditation on Early Spring

This is a writing exercise I did at a retreat over the weekend – we were charged with meditating on and writing about spring.

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On a cold, rainy spring day, I walk along a wooded path enveloped in the Earth’s awakening: a panoply of bird songs; water droplets hanging from burgeoning buds; the soft spongy earth beneath my feet and the smell of sweet mulch wafting upwards with each step.

I walk and imagine these woods at the height of spring: ephemeral flowers and tender fern fronds carpeting the forest floor.  Sunlight once unhindered now dappled on the ground and tree trunks. I long to be there now, with warmer winds gathering about me.

Sometimes in spring, I dream that fall has come and I somehow missed the summer. No crickets churruping outside our screen door, no thunderstorms or sweltering days. And it makes me terribly sad.  I’ve missed the best days of the year – those late spring and summer days. Days I long for the rest of the year. Then I wake and am thankful for spring all over again.

This, for me, is the blessing of these cold, rainy spring days.  Not just to witness the beginning rebirth of all things wild and free, but to feel the promise of what’s to come – those days that I long for. But not today; today I know those days are coming soon, and I’m content to wait just a little longer.