Spring Arrives, Like a Perhaps Hand
A shift in time, and those careful rhythms we'd developed across winter's dark, the slow pleasures of a slowly growing morning, all of that upended by the sudden shift in clocks.
But still: In unsettled time, I walk out of the house in the unexpected dark, see the full moon setting, resting on the bare branches of elm, ash, oak, and beech. The strangeness of the moon there fills me with a kind of wonder. Later, walking to work, I see a line of geese, their braided paths as they share the burden of the spring return. I find the moon again, tangled in the backyard thickets of lilac and rhododendron and hydrangea.
Spring arrives.
The world fills with color.
But still: In unsettled time, I walk out of the house in the unexpected dark, see the full moon setting, resting on the bare branches of elm, ash, oak, and beech. The strangeness of the moon there fills me with a kind of wonder. Later, walking to work, I see a line of geese, their braided paths as they share the burden of the spring return. I find the moon again, tangled in the backyard thickets of lilac and rhododendron and hydrangea.
Spring arrives.
The world fills with color.
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