dear friend,
the mornings are starting to smell new again. I walk down the road and into the sweet perfume of hyacinths. the purple little clamshells of crocuses, the sounding golden trumpets of daffodils. I’m no longer staring at my own steps on the sidewalk, but upward, eyes searching each yard on the block for the source of every new aroma.
how are we feeling? a long exhale, at last? a little timid, toeing reluctantly forward?
a favorite practice in this turn over to spring is observing how the animal of our bodies notices change first. a dusty brown, round bear huddled up, sleeping as thick and slow as molasses. here we are, slumbering. quiet. maybe our ears twitch with the melt of warmer mornings. our breaths become a little lighter, living more in the chest than the belly. we twist in the dirt; shake off the lichen.
how radiant you are, waiting by the window, watching for the sun to grant you more time to dance beneath it. you’ve let yourself dream again. even if it’s in bites, even if it’s in a different voice than it used to be. still, (despite, despite) there’s hope. at the least, a door left open for it. notice how much softer you’ve become to yourself. can you believe me now, that you’re worth being good to?
(if you don’t see it, my apologies in advance, but I’m not giving up yet.) watch for what takes the cherry blossom’s place next. snip off a few sprigs of juniper for your coat pocket or a shelf by your bedside. bring this sweetness with you. even if you’re not feeling it yet, maybe giving enough time; forgetting it’s there. and in a moment where your thoughts are busy elsewhere, you’ll be pulled back by the nose to where your feet stand now. a handful of flower buds. a moment of change; of waking again. a honeyed reminder of what’s to come.
with love,
schuyler (sky-ler)
venmo: schuylerpeck