It's time to stop and rest by the hushed rustling rhythm of blades of grass alongside the stream To let this soft cascade of breath carry away all the sharp edges of this life and tickle the small hairs on my bare neck There will be plenty of time to worry and plan but right now it is spring and I am in love these are the moments I've prayed for So hush this racing heart and mind surrender to the sensation of warm water slowly submerging supple limbs in thick bliss There is no where else I have to be this is it, stop holding your breath pause beneath the open sky of affection These tender moments can take away the pain let yourself have this mindful medicine that future you've been hurrying to is here It's okay to enjoy it
spring
Staying Present While Moving Forward
Preoccupied, I grasp at air trying to halt the passage of time the sickening, consistent tick, tick, tick that makes my heartbeat quicken tearing me away from where I am now I want to be so fully present that I can use these moments as patches to protect me in that future I fear collecting up all my small treasures to remind me this life has been a blessing There is no avoiding human suffering and I haven't yet had my fair share I have to learn to carry this cringing resistance while still enjoying the sticky leaves of spring while still soaking up love and sunlight The best preparation is practicing peace and expanding my capacity for gratitude with every sip of precious cool water resting in the sweet stirrings among the trees and observing the cyclical life of the hillsides
Long Walks in Spring
There is a healing, humming hush that rustles through the tall grass on long walks along the littered roadside The rising vibration of returning life as we circle back toward the outstretched arms of the sun that has kept us waiting with held breath Bringing inspiration that flows in with the warm air through the open window's billowing white curtains lifting old dust motes out of corners and into the light This soft atmosphere makes it easy to forgive and gently set aside the harsh bleak days of December making space for the fresh growth of wonder and wildflowers
Look Up
Spring beginnings are bittersweet a rotting smell rises with the heat roadside carcass baked in sun kept from hoping for what's to come Backward glances, Jack Frost's shadow the direction you face is where you'll go the cruelty of youth is turning away from sorrow, sickness, and slow decay Life's still blooming, the sun persists the trees don't wonder what they've missed each breeze carries the powder of new pollen raindrops don't resist where they've fallen
Spring Respite
The full-bodied scent of fresh cut grass starts to lighten the heavy eyelids of this child's soul that has lied slumbering in frost shaking snowflakes from thick lashes cells expanding as the air heats up Everything tastes better in summer soft air, sweet fruit, and salty skin hearts peel open suddenly in the sunlight like the fresh blossoms spilling pollen tender petals ready to receive the sky Colorful carousel of familiar sensations the day's reluctant, yet sensual surrender as the night descends in a slow simmer igniting the thorny hillsides into whispers the hushed murmur of a million voices Sleep comes easier when the sun has returned store away those sacred escapes somewhere safe Bright Eyes songs and novels by Charles Dickens David Copperfield tucked away beneath pillow cases life supports reserved for when the air grows thin again For now it's easy to breathe more deeply the atmosphere is thick like honey and just as sweet another new life christened with lavender winds wondering how those slinking shadow talons always tore so sharply at untanned skin
Feeling Soft
Everything was soft inside of me again the sunlight pierced my unfurling soul a sudden opening of the vacuum sealed air encircling my swimming, distorted thoughts my heart burst open, there was space to breathe Fragile reflections in water droplets held together by microscopic tension pressing softly into fresh hues of green the sensual humming silence that rises in anticipation of a new dawn Subtly shifting oil painting sky melting through pink and blue clouds I've finally found something worth the fear of being completely swallowed up and reshaped by an unknown hope
Spring Release
Sweet, sinful secrets grow stale kept away from the spring light urgent longing to release bleeding tongues bound with twine Something stirring deep beneath the rolling hillside breeze the tense, stagnant feeling in the air right before the downpour Trembling, tender buds on the cusp of a new season those brave first days of nature defying a few more morning frosts Honeysuckle blossoms spattered with dirt alongside the highway the smell of fresh pavement challenging earth's resilience Perpetual ascension, futile suppression thick air soon breaks into thunderstorms paint the dark earth with the wretched truth this land has lessons, it does not lie
Still Tired
Necromancer sprite of spring pulling life out of forgotten graves is there still a garden inside me? I can't remember what grew there It's never easy getting up again after months spent underground the soil lies heavy on tired eyelids the ache of empty veins refilled Growing tired of endless cycles water wheel curse in the river of time caught in constant non-consensual motion wringing out energy with drops of blood
Stirring
Thick silence between raindrops the empty ache inside a soul starts to feel like hunger pangs the dry crack of patched lips after a long drought The body learns to numb sensations that have so long stayed untended like a constant shrill sound that will eventually fade into the background pain can for a while be forgotten Soft cascade into feeling nothing is suddenly interrupted with the spring a stirring starts to awaken old memories the restless internal insistence to return to the whispering woods
Final First Days
Final crisp air of the last days of winter fragile, foolish hopes glisten with the frost my life is cracking open to reveal a new season finding shelter from sunlight in the cool moss It's hard to keep turning pages when the book seems halfway finished making paper cranes with yellowed edges translating words that weren't written in english Skittish tip-toe steps towards the sunrise unsure sounds of someone else, footsteps at my side breathe me in deeply with the humid air of summer protective ribcage sanctuary, by your heart I will reside