Returning from the mountains after five days, snow all around...finally...I was struck by these first signs of Spring in the Bay area. Surreal to me, really.
Where do these colors come from, if not from the outer reaches of planetary impossibility? Impressed by vibrant colors, you might say, but, really, it is difficult for me to imagine colors so vivid, amidst a sea of colorless, seasonal yearnings.
What, say you, is that? We wonder. Color, such as this, has me wondering.
Just as I was about to call it a day...long drive back from the elevations of drab, dirty snow and barely a peek at the blue sky...there was I. Knowing, there was a season awaiting; beckoning, reasoning, coming into its own.
This little budding beauty, has nary been seen in years...no rhyme or reason why now, she peeks her paralyzing pink heads above the midst of greenery. To surrvive is to say the obvious. She lives. She is.
I dare not wish for the new season ahead. Ahead of myself, as dire winter waits for her greatest moment. She waits, as if the spider to her web; she will catch it before it's too late. Winter waits. She yearns for bitter temps. She knows her potential and she is patient. Her prey awaits.
Voices in the night, reflect the shadows of the dawn. Hazy moon, relaxes in the inky blackness of stellar perfection. It glitters. Never falters. Gives new life. Takes away the imagination that fears no distance. She prevails.
"Hope runs eternal," she once said...time and time again. But where is she now? She festers in our memories. She lingers in our fears. She waits in Heaven, where the promise of eternal life tantalizes our sense of self. Can it be?
Mother Nature or one's mother, to be sure, she is always lying in wait of all that is unsure. We try to be like her. We want to live up to her expectations. We need to try our darndest. Don't we? To please a lesser God would be to fail all that we have come to be. Or is that another man's failing? Another one's plea. A cry in the hearafter; a sigh in the now.
For looking foward is really all we have right now. Because, to look back is a trivial waste of time and effort, in the littlest scheme of things yet to be. It is the looking ahead that has us all in a dither; whether to think the worst of mankind or the best of what will be, it is all the same, isn't it? It is not for us to know, but for us to anticipate and appreciate. If that is all we know. If all we know is nothing. In reality. If all we know is spoon fed. Handed down, so to speak. Taken for granted. Wasted in the end.
This one isn't mine. Found it on line. Used it before. This much I know for sure. The red enhanced dew drops; the hints of lavendar green giving life, is all that matters. I cannot think of another thing, but to wonder, want and anticipate the luxury of the coming Spring.
Oh, snap out of it now. Grab hold of your senses. Be they 5, 6 or 7. Think only of the possibilities. The trouble we find when surely we seek to avoid all that was warned. It finds us as surely as we cover our eyes, ears and mouths. Barely audible gasps where screams once lived. Where did it go?Time infinite. Lost. Yet ticking so loudly that we cannot find solace in sleep's escape. A night's revenge. Minutes, scraping like nails on a chalk board, we cannot rejuvenate that which we must forsake for all that we failed to learn.
Alas, all is not lost. We fight the nightmares that haunt our brightest hours...and we cover our heads in hopes of slumbering discontent. We search for answers in the night. The constellations of hope that yield not what our mothers whispered in our innocent ears. Their looks of anxious prayers, in constant doubting. They quickly reassured us. They consoled.
Now, it is on us. To continue the march. To listen to the faltering music that is ours to perfect in this moment. To define moments to come and go. To find a balance that teters in the distance and threatens to send us into a spinning abyss. We can try to understand it. It is all we really have. It is given to us, to figure out in a split second; this moment in time.
Gladly, we accept this. Reluctanly, we move forward. For if we do not, the backwards motion of this unreality, will be our undoing. Will it not?
"Spring forward..." If we can? It is the guarantee of the universe, that time heals all that ails us. In that one glance of the colors that burst outward; that leap at us, dance in the daylight and mesmerizes our senses......I sense that a new season is upon us.
And very soon.
As, "wonders never cease."