on the way home from the forest on sunday, so many spring ephemerals!! , driving past all of the blooming shrubs and trees on the sides of the road we start shouting out-loud from the point of view of Spring —
be your best self, bloom! lots of colors! shine! give it all you got! go go go!
as if your life depends on it! all at once! no holding back! get out there! be brilliant! all the colors! all the time! go go !
we are laughing in between shouting because its all true, because there’s a lot to do – homework, farm work, school work, because of all of the other tangled up feelings, because of heartache because it is the time of unfolding but what if I don’t want to unfold right now
the pledge to notice, and to pin down the noticings like dried flowers
on the notecards on my table, again
learning gomphrena, the flower that comes in hues of purple and red and the kind with yellow dashes on the tips, fireworks, feeling thankful for the papery bracts that lend themselves easily to visions of bright winter window decorations
‘soak up the sun’ I say to the first graders walking on the farm who are complaining that they are hot and they are thirsty, and when can they sit down, ‘ because it will be winter sooner than we think!’ I say even though that is hard to imagine in the 80 degrees and not even 11am on this mid-October morning
ordering hot and sour soup for the third time in two weeks from the same restaurant under the bridge, this time its dark outside and raining. inside its all smiles we’re laughing and shouting and reaching out with our arms to underscore injustices and gesticulate our fantasies of growing 15 foot perennial grasses in 10 foot long garden beds so sometimes I become conscious of how much louder we are than the older couple sitting at the table next to us, but they don’t seem bothered and the red hue of the wallpaper and the soft maroon of the napkins and the spicy warming liquid is warming more than just the inside of my stomach.
when we free the garlic from the too-dense matt of winter mulch so it has enough room to breathe
spring air and extend its fingers and toes, and so do I now, both of us me and garlic sticking out our noses just a little bit farther to smell
walking home sloshing through puddles in dark green boots, seeing shades of light green dark green middle green poking out from all of the corners of the street and sidewalk and a pink child’s sunhat laying in the middle of the road
getting rained on.
the pink halo that I see from far away around a tree, and come to find is actually hundreds, thousands? of red flower buds blooming
on the maple