Home for Spring

Dear Friend,

She reveals herself in the little gifts she leaves, for she is a kind lover and a gift giver, and if you may find well her gifts, you may find just so well her love. I see her more clearly this year than the last, in the pink blossoms that sway so gently in the wind, in the blue lupins that sprout from their shaded plots, in the green powder that settles my notepad as I write here in this quiet park. Hers is a dance that I am still stumbling to follow, but in her perfumed wake of petals, my heart is so certainly flowering once more.

How lovely, how whimsical! The world can be so joyful if you should find its little gifts myriad. But if you mayn't, fear not, for you shall yet be saved. Hers is a gentle love and a gentler mercy. All she asks is that you must dance. To feel light your feet under the blushing sun, to feel bare skin's weight once more.

I am dancing movements new and old. To old steps so deeply worn, along tracks not tread in years; to brave rhythms that have grown into place, joined by melodies newly inspired. And in this dance, I find that my roots have become so bold as to take hold anew. He has thawed and I am home and nearly home, and she is my herald, and she is teaching me so much. The wanderer carries within him all seasons; the dancer knows only the one that wears true.

Planted, I am, and sown, this earth becomes. Under sun and shade and rain, my limbs stretch out to receive her. She will adorn me in her grace, with weaving roses that shall form my crown, with wisteria vines that shall drape my trunk. Here, I intend to rest a while.

Gracefully, Eden