Tag Archives: spring

Metamorphosis

                                Last Spring

 

Last year, in the spring, my favorite time of year, I was shocked into retreat. I became a small newborn shell of the person I was, lost and stagnant and felt like a little caterpillar egg, waiting to hatch and to become something new and different. My prior life was suddenly gone and I had no frame of reference, so, I stayed in the safety of my egg, waiting.

 

After a few weeks I came out of my egg, more by force than by choice. There was nothing else to do but to emerge, look around and see what I was facing, so I did. I began to look for familiar things, yoga, the beach, work of course and the children. I looked for friends and family and for ways to occupy myself. I resided in the familiar, but everything was different now.

                         Starting to Bloom

As small as a caterpillar, I crawled along, nibbling from the familiar and attempting to try a few unfamiliar things too. I traveled alone, I traveled with my daughters and I connected to everyone I could. I found out who my true friends were-the ones who stuck around and cared. I rediscovered the importance of family and traditions and I found joy in my new granddaughter. I wrote more, read a lot, found strong roots in feminism and awareness.

I grew and became more than the small egg and more than a small caterpillar crawling along alone; I became bigger. I was still me, with my sadness, insecurities, and fear of this new, unknown life and though I had new experiences that felt good, the winter brought cold and darkness and it was hard to find any light. I retreated.

 

I spent the winter in the cocoon of my routine, the security of my home with cozy fires and getting inside out of the darkness. I spent weekend mornings in the safety of my flannel sheets and most nights with the company of the television. I waited for Gary to walk through the door but of course he didn’t. I stared at his collection of cars, his clothes and it seemed surreal, the magnified sadness of the winter only kept at bay by keeping busy.

Then, last week, the rain stopped and I saw the first lupines and poppies blooming in the Canyon. The birds once again wake me with their songs and sit on the wires in pairs, some building nests in the lavender bushes. The hills are lush green from the heavy winter rains and the trees are filled with buds. I feel comfortable beginning to nibble my way out of the cocoon, or at least a bit of the way out. I am not quite ready to emerge, my wings still wet and new, but I can imagine flying.

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Filed under change, death, grief, Life thoughts, writing

Three-Leaf Clovers

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Strolling through the hills on my (mostly) usual afternoon walk with Charlie, I notice the vibrant green bunches of clover dotting the hillside, little yellow buds poking out of the bunchs attached by winding vine-like stems.  I notice the bright green, almost flourescent color, and the perfection of each little clover with its heart-shaped leaves.  Thought of spring come on this Groundhog Day.  It is predicted to be an early one but this cloudy day offers little evidence of the sunny days to come.  Only the clovers springing up through the mud left from last week’s rain give me the light feeling of winter’s end approaching in a month or so.

I appreciate the simple little clovers and only after observing them for a few minutes, realize that I am supposed to be looking for a four-leaf clover.  Perfection.  There isn’t one, of course.  Perfection isn’t always readily available so why do we search for it, scold ourselves for not achieving it and judge ourselves and others with perfection as the barometer?  It is a human condition to reflect on the past and the “if only” that result from those sad recollections.  To worry about the future and the unknown events that await.

Arriving home, Charlie is not content to stay inside just yet so we wander in the yard and relax on his favorite lounge chair.  Here he is content.  I gaze forward at the mountains across the Valley and notice for the first time that I can see a mountain range beyond the first set.  For a cloudy day the visibility is exceptional.  A little sliver of sky remains under the clouds and it is that sliver that allows me to peek beyond the first barrier of mountains.  Breathing.  In and out.  With Charlie resting between my legs, but poised, observing every little bird, every leaf moving slightly in the slight breeze, I am able to rest in the present.

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Filed under Life thoughts, Relax

Wisteria=Spring

The rain is dissipating, the clouds are blowing off to other regions and though the ground is still damp the wisteria have decided to burst open filling the yard with fragrant, lovely lavender blossoms.  The bees aren’t interested in us anymore, they are drunk on the sweet-smelling nectar oozing from these springtime visitors.

It has been seven years since we planted these wisteria plants and I’ve grown used to their arrival with the sudden explosion of lavender perfume and the following lush green foliage.  It is a treat every year and a pleasure I look forward too.  In other areas, the seasons bring radical differences of shocking red, orange and yellow leaves, dramatic weather, snow, blizzards or tornadoes, but in California, we delight in the smaller changes:  actual creeks, small waterfalls, lupines and wisteria.  It reminds me that there will be warmer weather to look forward to.

 

Our wisteria is a simple pleasure, but one I can enjoy free every time I open the sliding door to the garden.  It brings tears to my eyes, as do many sensory experiences that elicit memories of other Springs when there were more of us here in this house, and times were not so uncertain.  The scent of spring flowers is an expected indulgence that I have shared with my family and even my dog seems to wallow in the heady blossoms that litter the patio.

Spring is a time for new beginnings,  and as my Weight Watcher leader said at our Saturday meeting, “We can’t create a new beginning, but we can create a new ending.”  We have a chance in the Spring to start again, to look forward at the ending we want to create and begin now to walk that road.  The wisteria remind me that there are possibilities and there is still hope.  I hope I see them blossom again next Spring.

 


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Filed under change, Life thoughts