Spring has arrived . . sort of. This is Spring in Quebec where the snow melts like a glacier, and the small talk in the corner dépanneur is drumming a tired refrain. “The winter is too long here. I can’t wait for the warmer weather and the snow to disappear.” Coffee shop owners dust off their verandas so customers can sit outside with their coats on. The eagerness for it all to come to a definitive end keeps resounding in my ears, while my heart just wants to melt at the snow’s pace and take it all in, like a whisper. I don’t mind, I know it’s hot and cold, wet and icy, dirty and white. But I will patiently wait for the bears to wake and the geese to return.
You see, the ground is starting to thaw, the ice-cover of the rivers is cracking open, and the woods are letting in more light. And over and over I hear my sister’s voice crying out for that clearing, a time, a place, a future present to turn up on the life stage, and declare peace, peace in the heart, happiness in the home, healing in all relations, and a release of all energies, a total dissipation, a God-given swivel. I hear it when I am staring at the computer screen, I hear it at the sight of the icicles on the roof taking a dive, I hear it when I should be paying attention to the task at hand. The Spring, surely the Spring with its slow motion, steady progression forward in time will offer something new, a blooming surprise that has the feel and fragrance of the flowers, a something that shows up in bright green in the place of pink or orange. Whatever it will be, whatever shape it will take, it will be joyful, miraculous, gracious, forgiving, and generous, so much so that everything feels new again, nothing ever repeats itself, life is restored to its full glory, that when I look up at the sky, the vast heavens echo here below, and I know the constellations knit us together in a perfect weave. We were meant to be here, to try it out, see who we really are, rise up, and then discover our immensity, our boundlessness.
It is Spring. It is time. I am so eager for the breaking open, dear sister.