April 12, 2014
Filed Under: Personal
The arrival of spring always feels immaculate and pristine. A spotless perfection full of hope and optimism, and fresh possibilities. I could spend several serene hours simply being content with this stranger we call the sun – letting it cover me, lift me, warm me from within. This type of peace only comes during the first signs of this season.
We anticipate it for months and once it comes, it consumes us. It’s presence never leaves our minds and we rest with it, inhale it, inflate our hearts with it. This conscious appreciation fades with time and we become accustomed. We forget about the dead of winter. The dreariness, the chilled stillness, the dark and depression. The shiver melts out of our bones and pours from our bodies as we accept this newfound sunlight. We drink the humidity and dance in warm rains. Then the buds come, and we embrace them. We love them like we love our favorite melodies, but once they’ve bloomed into flowers, we neglect to notice. We walk by, spoiled and ignorant, and viewing the world with summer soaked eyes. An over saturation of goodness turns into an immunity to the acknowledgement of beauty.
Spring is only sincerely appreciated after an honest winter. Just as peace can only be fully understood after war, or joy can only be truly experienced after great sadness, we must shake hands with the worst in order to grasp the best. Despite the desire to flush our minds of past pain, we must allow remnants of the cold, violence, and anguish to remain, simply as a reminder. It is only then that we are able to value the flowers and entirely experience the season they represent.
Spring is here. The sun is shining today, and will again tomorrow. Birds are chirping happily and the warm wind is all embracing. Allow your porous soul to sponge up this season, and refuse to wring it dry.