This was lovely! I read a Natalie Goldberg (of Writing Down the Bones fame) book and stumbled on a passage that said "I've lived into many beautiful springs, but none ever felt as miraculous as a Minnesota spring. After a northern winter of forty below, you feel certain nature is dead dead--for good. Then the power of life shoots up through elm, birch, and willow and small crocuses pry open the frozen earth. How can this be? Spring is a force -- impersonal, potent, and available to all. Not orderly, not calculable - more like the rain shower that I listened to in that English class." I've always thought that no one deserves spring more than those in the upper Midwest.
This was lovely! I read a Natalie Goldberg (of Writing Down the Bones fame) book and stumbled on a passage that said "I've lived into many beautiful springs, but none ever felt as miraculous as a Minnesota spring. After a northern winter of forty below, you feel certain nature is dead dead--for good. Then the power of life shoots up through elm, birch, and willow and small crocuses pry open the frozen earth. How can this be? Spring is a force -- impersonal, potent, and available to all. Not orderly, not calculable - more like the rain shower that I listened to in that English class." I've always thought that no one deserves spring more than those in the upper Midwest.
"When I smell wet earth on my hands, my feet, in my nose, I am the same person I’ve always been despite whatever season of life I’m in."
Yes! There's something real and primal about digging in dirt. It feels like coming home and gives me the urge to take up gardening.
I want to lounge on Maggie’s couch and listen to Blood on the tracks