Maine is turning on the wheel as seasons spin. Snowfall just a week ago, today the leaves have come to bud, my lilacs leafing out in tender green. Daffodils, in jaunty dress are everywhere I go, forsythia in bloom.
I know that Spring has really come when that brilliant yellow stands against what winter left behind, deadfall from the latest heavy snow. I’ve a soft spot for forsythia. When I was just a girl, I wove those branches into flower crowns and thought myself so free- my heart with so much still ahead, to learn, to feel, to grieve. I loved the boy who lived next door and wove him once a fairy crown he deigned to wear upon his head. Oh, the simple things that thrill the soul at fifteen.
So even now, at sixty-three, I feel youth gently nudge and smile at me. How fleeting are the years that spill and spin. How sweet the things well tucked in memory!
The grass is finally green, dandelion and violets strewn cross the lawn in wild abandon. New beginnings and sacred days that pass, it seems a turning circle as we go.
