The Sound of Haze

Early Spring Emanations

Between an equinox and an eclipse, April is showering. Spring rain, like a lover’s buttery sweat, whispers aliveness. It allures tiny curious buds to take shapes of their own. My eyes have been waiting the whole winter, to receive the colors and forms of all possibilities. The sound of wind and rain against my window lulls me still, into deeper and deeper layers of silence. Like something underground is breathing in, coaxing moisture into droplets into its gaping maw. I seek that exhale. I seek that bloom just around the corner. Yet I let myself be lulled.

A mourning dove couple has been visiting us, perched on our living room window sill. We’d heard their calls for many a year, a clarion hoot cutting through the sounds of city life. A lingering shout from the beautiful void of nature, pulling me into its mystery. I am transported to times and places far away and far inside.

Transported to a place between an equinox and an eclipse, where April is showering. Somewhere limbic and liminal, sealed in the space between, where the beat of the season has claimed my eardrum as its own instrument. Moisture in the air envelopes all sound, rendering a spirit of inquiry.

I have lost nothing in winter, yet early spring conjures a sense of mourning. Endless brittle branches are letting go of their bareness. I have been attuning to subtler sounds of spring, awaiting the quiet symphony of petals bursting open and returning back to earth, simultaneously, fragmenting time – between an equinox and an eclipse.