Sprouting and buzzing

After a long silence, it feels tingly to place words together again in this small corner of the net.

The past months are demanding me just one thing, to go ahead and let the past be past, buried in the earth so that -sooner or later- it will be back in the wind and sun too, oblivious of anything that isn’t life.

Spring has been telling me so much, and yet it is strange to try and put its messages in words. It may be that She talks in the gentle speech of leaves, of petals and flowers, the gems still furry and curled, permeating the air with that sweet smell of new birth.

It is such a translucent language, a simple, elemental wonder for life, that same kind of touch that children and pups have in the eyes, when the whole world is new. How to express such primary, transcendent grasp on things?

Every word feels too heavy for it, but after spending some time in nature for a walk or trek or swim, it almost feels to have that same language on my tongue, and I too become a new leaf or bud, and breathe air and light again for the first time.

And as simple as that, I guess a few days of spring can really heal the months of gloom and darkness: as if putting back together the pieces of a broken bowl.

And the golden repair, (“kintsugi” as it is called in Japanese) is now the yellow of dandelions and tulips and primroses, but also the pink of quince blossoms and the purple of irises, the joyful white of heather and daisies;

and when I hold the bowl closer, I hear it buzzing and flapping with bees and bugs, and the wind is saying -come drink out of life again, out of the sun and warmth and the scent of grass.

Little pieces come back where they belong, and song and colors too…it feels as if the sun was lit again inside.

I have been wondering at trees: their trunk has seen scars and storms, their roots are firm deep around a warm core, and the leaves..the leaves are just anew: no hint of anything except today, because every day’s the first.

I wish trees could teach me how to be all this at the same time, and maybe they are already doing that. I especially wish for that feeling of the leaves, the being anew: bright green and light in the sun, a gentle revolution after winter.

Plants are offering so much to me these days, and I can feel their slow, firm and powerful hold on life helping me healing the darkest corners, sweeping the dust away… I offer you some pictures of my “plant mentors” of the last weeks, from Tuscany and the island of Malta.

What are flowers and leaves and trees sharing with you these days?

For the first time since I created A heron on the roof, today I’m opening this blog to comments: I would love to hear about your spring, about how we are unfurling through the new season around the world…

I have some news, but they’ll wait until next post. Please receive all these flowers from me as a spring celebration, shared with you out of gratitude for the new season and for being back to this blog.

May sun and rain and earth be with you

and the time to bud and bloom come gently

and with all the beauty you wish for, and more.

And welcome once again to this heron’s nest 🙂