On seasons

Spring Beauty - an edible, early blooming flower - prefers the sun-dappled lowlands of floodplain forests. This tiny star has pink pollen; I was delighted to discover that, as a result, the small bees that frequent them carry iridescent pink pollen sacs. This plant spreads by reseeding itself. Stubborn little thing can quickly reclaim the silty overflow of a swollen river. Making beauty out of loam.

Happy Friday, beautiful people; and - as my little reflection from a few years ago suggests - welcome to spring.

I wrote a few posts ago about perspective and taking effort to do both near and far-sighted work, but this is a self-induced reflection. I find that I love the changing of the seasons because it is an external shift that, so long as my eyes are open, can’t be missed. In the last two weeks here in Saint Louis, I’ve spotted purple crocuses sprouting through the husk of last fall’s leaves; the first blooms upon saucer magnolia trees; the trumpeting emergence of yellow daffodils. We’ve also weathered severe winds and storms - and with them, hours of tornado sirens, the cacophony of inch sized hail pummeling my western facing windows, and a sick yellow haze from distant wildfire smoke carried here on those strong and persistent winds. In like a lion, out like a lamb…and on to the thick richness of sun and summer.

Much like a Midwestern spring - sometimes our personal seasons of growth start of chaotic or even violent. Sometimes we find ourselves spotting beauty amidst the pain of shedding. Sometimes we are lost in the storm. The trick is to keep your eyes open and know, like all seasons, this too shall pass.

What is your “spring season” like today? Is it stormy? Is it calm? Are you sowing or witnessing flowering? Perhaps both? Can you hold space for whatever may be occurring and know that it - in all its permutations - is part of your unfolding story?

Be well, beautiful people.