love note to spring/gratitude prose...

at the start of this summons to isolate, the ferns in my neighborhood were at their prime. now they pull in their leaves, coiling them in from the tips, as if making a charade of fiddle-heads. daffodils have passed, but the daisies remain. only nettles in the deepest shade are fresh, and haven’t started flowering their soft and furry seeds. i am more tuned into it. for the first time i am introduced to the elderflowers in the forest, and i notice wild orchids in quantities i had never estimated. i am still motivated to create, but even more so, to connect. connect delicately to my breath each morning. connect to the taste of the wet green luxury of air. connect to the myriads of bird song. connect with the shape of things, noticing the height and palette of the season shift in increments. the horsetails buds shake their manes. the lemon balm are suddenly interspersed with bluebells. the ground becomes a bouquet. spring has been my companion through a continuity of solitude. did i know i would ever have such a lavish and bountiful friend? sap in my hair, dirt in my hands, have i ever let myself be that familiar with what surrounds me, supports me, satiates my senses, and gives my heart a sanctuary in which to land and open? am i similar to the seeds i recently placed in the earth – finding some kind of fresh genesis with the rains? sensations pass through me. sensations i equate with the thinning of perceptual filters, with a more intense experience of being alive. is this what aging is? a chance to become ever more intimate? an opportunity for deepening into endless brightening fathoms? spring has caught me, every cell and synapse transformed in its vibrant alchemy. it seems i have become an empath to the blossoming, the starlight, the winds. i would not have thought of this as a super power until now.

tiny feather

not a dandelion seed

spring breeze

stasia garraway

stasia garraway