Flaw Salad

April stirs. A quiet warmth breathes energy softly in us. Outside our sturdy winter walls, trees bear bashful, hopeful buds. They reach toward the coming warmth, feel its power, trust its certainty. Life moves on the trees, in the air, along the thawing ground. Sleepers crawl drowsily from hiding. We share their readiness to scurry, to once again throw our bodies into the sun.

Our boxes and buildings and machines and walls no longer protect us. No, they cage, and we feel their repression. Nature swims in our veins and seeks proximity to its brethren, to the same longing and stirring coursing through branch and wing. Our bodies remember and demand. A hand in soil. Back against trunk. Cheek in breeze. A body immersed in the struggling and straining and yawning of each bud and paw, a chorus of rousing, a melody irresistible. We ache to join the song. Our power longs to escape.

Oh, we emerge so fresh in spring! Now we can change. Now is a moment of vigor, of optimism, of tenacity. Now we set our course. Possible, yes, it’s all possible. And we choose. We choose our worlds now, in the spring, as we wake once more. Now we decide.

Listen tenderly, mind. Speak boldly, heart. Now is your moment. Now you must choose. Now you must sing desire triumphant. We’ll trod gaily and fiercely where you lead. Now, in the spring. Now we will listen–so serenade! Wake, dear heart, and sing!