Wake Up, Wake Up, Wake Up

Welcome dear world to the days of March. Time has inevitably moved on, reminding us how puny we are in the face of a living, breathing universe. I woke up sometime before dawn, only to realize just how close we in the Northern Hemisphere are to the end of winter; the subtle signs of an awakening spring have been minutely revealing themselves and softly proclaiming the season’s coming arrival.

Photo by Sydney Troxell on Pexels.com

I have been hearing it in the drip-drip-drop of the snow, and in the blustering of cleansing winds outside my window; I have felt it in the heart of night, with my blankets kicked to the side their weighted heaviness no longer needed for my comfort; I have tasted it in the sweetness of pure maple syrup on my lips, and yesterday I saw it in the flight of a family of bluebirds that I startled from a hedge of Juniper as I walked by.

Photo by Tina Nord on Pexels.com

Fluttering in unison into the branches of a nearby tree, dressed in celestial feathers, they watched as I stealthily moved close to take their picture–too late–by the time I had fumbled my cell phone into position, with my glasses perched precariously on my face, they nodded their little heads with excitement and quickly flew away.

In the darkness of shifting light, I lie here in my bed and watch the sun rise. I am not quite ready for winter to be over: I still crave the cover of ice and snow to muffle the sounds of the world. It’s been easy to stay quiet, hidden away from the hustle and bustle of what friendly weather will surely bring. Everything will change with the warmth of the sun, and I will be compelled, like the black bears of the forest, to leave the shelter of my cozy den.

Wake up, wake up, wake up. It’s time to rub the sleep from my eyes, and I am not ready.

The dream-time magic of winter can’t last forever, and soon the aura of my surroundings will be transformed from the misty hues of silvery grays and sparkling whites, into a wild symphony of unavoidable brilliancy in every color.

And I, withdrawn and curled up in the deepest of waking-slumber, must stumble out from the shadows of myself, and face the coming light.

Wake up, wake up, wake up. It’s time to rub the sleep from my eyes, and I am not ready.

In Misty Colored Peace, Raven

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