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Spring always does something to me. When the warm wind blows from the
south like a "wave of unreasonable happiness" and a green blush is
resurrected on earth's face in a creaturely imitation of its risen
Creator, I feel the irresistible magnetism of an entire hemisphere
engaged in a vivacious act of wild revelry: the JOY of LIFE. It comes like a thief in the night, not to kill but to resuscitate and
say, "It's good to be home!"
The rain leaves puddles of sky in the
roads, like celestial confetti, so that the dark silhouette of terra firma
seems but a crust sandwiched between the fire-lit skies of two
different worlds above and below my feet, and the flaming sky-filled
potholes become portals betwixt the two. I walk home balanced on the
crust, the purple shadows emitting a backdrop of peace, and the sun's
last rays setting the windows of home ablaze in a passion. As the sunset
changes hues, the curlews whirl overhead with their woodwind song, the
ground releases its deep earthy notes, and the spring peepers strike up a
chorus, all to remind the world that it's really alive, to feel the
blood and breath inside and BE JOYOUSLY ALIVE.
