permeable season: necessary (and overdue) rinse for the soul
it’s not yet warm, certainly not at this early hour. so i sit wrapped in layers of sweater, with a blanket besides. my down vest is within easy reach. and so is my steamy-hot first mug of coffee. ah, but the sunlight says yes, and the birdsong is begging: open the door, let in the dawn.
and so i surrender.
the glass-paned french door is swung on its hinges, and nothing but screen stands between me and the cool april morn. it’s door-opening season, windows-ajar time of year. even if a smidge on the chilly side.
it’s the necessary ablution of springtime. the rinse of the outdoors rushing in. stale wintertime, out; vernal cleansing, in.
despite the goosebumps parading up and down my fleshy forearms, i am awash in the warbles of avian romance, as males of the species put on a flash-dance of song. there is much feeding of worms out there in birdland, the tender exchange of squirmy invertebrate passed from beak to beak, a wet juicy kiss if ever there was. and one that wiggles, to boot.
my furnace, not yet stilled for the summer, bellows like nobody’s business. it’s doing its darnedest to chase out the chill i am defiantly, purposely, ushering in.
whoever invented the quartet of seasons (hmmm, who might that be?) must have had the insider’s intimate knowledge when it came to the care and maintenance of the human soul. because, i tell you, by the final stretch of april, when winter’s gone longer than long and mittens aren’t yet tucked away, we’re nearly gasping for a good strong dose of undiluted solar infusion.
truth is, i wouldn’t mind being pinned to a clothesline right about now. just dangling out in the breeze, chasing my wrinkles and worries away.
folks i know and love are practically bursting at the seams, ready to shake off the sluff of being stuck inside for far too many weeks. and sitting here, amid the swells of this early morning’s stirrings, i’m bristling to attention with each and every quarter note flung from the throat of my warblers and robins.
it’s as if our pores, every last one of them, need the cobwebs and grime air-blasted out. that peculiar affliction known as spring cleaning, it’s a must for our souls as well every last tile and nook crusted with the long winter’s crud.
i, for one, need a good long march through the woods. i ache to crouch low to the leaf-caked earth, to inspect for fungi and frond slowly unfurling. i yearn for a log to call out my name, to beg i plop down my bum, pull a cake or a grape from my pocket: plein air piquenique, i call it. a feast for the senses, garnished with goosebump.
it’s why the first duke of wellington invented the rubber-soled boot. and why mr. charles macintosh invented the dew-proof, rain-repellant mackintosh jacket. so that fools like me could take to the logs, and the awakening woods when our souls cried out in deep dire need of the airing that comes on the brightening end of winter.
margaret atwood once wrote that in the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt. i say bring on the pungent, the woodsy perfume, of knees drenched in dirt, and shoes oozing with muck.
we’re long overdue for that most essential turn of the seasonal dial: the one that stirs us to life, to revivification; the one that quickens the pulse in our tired old ticker, and brings on the proof, living and breathing and warbling, that the beautiful, the tender, it comes, hallelujah.
how do you indulge in the vernal effusion?
and two more little wisps from The Blessings of Motherprayer….
xoxox may your week wrap you in blankets and blankets of birdsong and tender breathtaking beauties…xoxox
Another beautiful piece that started my day with a smile😘
oh, bless your beautiful heart. i can only imagine how heavenly earthy it is up at your tumbledown farm. xoxoxoxoxo
I’m right there with you. Magnolia tree in the front yard is just at the brink of blooming.
i feared my magnolia might have called in sick for the year. there are buds, the whitest, purest wisps of blossom just emerging, but not nearly as many as usual. will hold my breath. joining you in magnolia dance….
This post is perfect. Absolutely perfect…. Your writing is a much-needed spring tonic, and I’m grateful. If you stand still and listen, you’ll hear the faint echo of my voice on the prairie wind: I’m the little bird singing ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’ from my leafy bower. xo
love the notion that if i listen hard enough i can catch your sweet warble on the east-blowing breeze……xoxox
The beloved ancestral grapevine was moved today. I didn’t realize I’d scheduled it for Arbor Day, but I think the confluence of events bodes well for the raggedy but vital old Vitus labrusca cultivar, which came up as one with its conjoined wrought iron arbor and was gingerly shuffled by four guys to its new location maybe 15 feet away (to make room for a garage–not my idea). After a fervent conversation with the pros about how my grandfather planted it at least 80 years ago, and how the sales contract for the family home included my maintaining access to care for it and harvest the grapes so I could carry on my family’s tradition of jelly-making, they understood what a special job it was, and my trepidation level was dialed down. They did a meticulous job, and the gentleman in charge got a jar of last year’s kick-butt jelly for his care. (I also spoke quietly with the vine before the move, explaining what was going to happen and why, and held a gnarled main stem to pass along some extra energy.) I am cautiously optimistic that all will be well, and the anxiety over this project has lifted with winter’s last doldrums. Hallelujah! May I join you on that clothesline?
OH DEAR GRACIOUS! this post of yours deserves its own headline — and likely a parade as well!! the love and care and thought and meticulous planning you put into the preservation of this family heirloom (one that bears jelly!!!) is breathtakingly beautiful. now, we will all take a giant inhale and await the mysteries of earth to carry that beauty forward and onward. we will keep watch, and happy to come for grape dance should that be desired as well. love that you found a gentleman as dear and meticulous as you. hallelujah, indeed! xoxoxo