Instructions on not giving up

Whatever winter did to us is done now,  the blame, the surrender,  the healing;  it’s all complete.

I wonder what the green spring skin growing over all of this is intending?

I hope it won’t break my heart and yet that is the nature of tenderness.  The nature of new tender shoots includes the fierce gentleness required to allow them to unfurl.

Last night standing by the side of the road, unwilling to return to what was, maybe that was the beginning of the green skin growth?

Maybe the beginning was the coziness of the 3:30am cup of tea, the sweet essay I read that included cows and Vermont and the possibility of calm?  The deep sleep after all that, even with the nightmares, had me awaken refreshed and at peace.

The life force tending the green skin is definitely clearing a groove, creating new pathways to journey, healing old and new wounds so easily.  (Actually not easily, let’s say relentlessly.)

And yet, I do respect it’s intensity, the fierceness of the determination to breach the river bank that I have tirelessly tried to maintain.

And now, I allow.  And, hope for faith in the act of surrender.

March 20, 2024 | Bainbridge Island | Wild Writing with Satu

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