40 days. 40 nights.
It all comes at the last stand of winter -- borrowed time
lent by the secret season between winter and spring. Snow melts into soil, dormant dirt.
Ashes on the forehead of the world.
Home is where the dust on your feet comes from.
We smear the sands of foreign places on our bodies
to wipe clean, buff out the impurities - expose
our purest rawest selves.
We are born again in the spring
we rise to greet the sun like tulips
we spread our arms wise on the lawn in the afternoon.
--
The snow is almost gone and I can feel spring poking through the gloom of this harsh winter. It's always striking to me how a few days can be enough to wipe away the grime that winter left and reveal a nursery of new life. I'm looking forward to all things that come with spring, including the opening of the mind and soul to warmer thoughts and actions.
Bss,
Marybeth
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