It's so magically cool and warm. There are storm clouds around the city from time to time, and the walkways are suddenly bursting in green, as though there was never green before. If somebody told me that every spring we get younger the older we get, I would believe them. This seems like the first spring.
Maybe because everything around me is opening itself to the world, I feel at greater ease doing the same. Every year, it is the same, and yet never in winter can my body believe it could be possible. Are we guarded, are we open-chested; or are we copying the trees that silently, patiently stand around us, living as they are, changing with the sun from day to day? A tree is cold, a tree is warm, living happens below the surface and above it, hiding and then sharing with all the world. Might we give ourselves this freedom, even in the months that seem so boarded, so tired, so constricted? Does the root have spring in it, or does it need the world to be so?
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