The Sound of Sprigs

Betwixt

The beauty in a sharp chill’s satisfying snap slips between my fingers, as a wandering wind rushes through, willing me to hasten home. Hugging tight, shoulders to ears, something brightens in my contraction. This body knows of summer’s suns and winter’s snows, but still holds on tight to indoor glows. This comfort of walled warmth hems me in.

The cold snaps again, his wind washing over, willing me to hasten home. The knife of the mind sharpened on winter’s whetstone, cuts in pieces, my fumbling fears.

I wonder back to childhood walks, in my winter socks, and if the cold chilled the same. This moment of memory, wills me to quiet. I’d forgotten to care about the cold. I’d forgotten to hear the whispers of wonder in every season.

I had slumbered long, but now seek more to belong. Spring is seeping steady between these cold snaps – growing space for the children of sunlight to bloom. Plants and animals are peeking and sneaking into the light. The sidewalks are moving slower, not simply conveying people home, but providing space too to roam. The insides are moving out and gathering. In this moment dancing on the edge between winter’s wind and spring’s sun, I snap to – gether with this sensation of emergence’s emancipation.