Teach what spring means. Beyond birth. Beyond light. Break understanding of spring. Destroy it. And rebuild it all over again. From scratch. From skin. From leaves burnt in wildfires, from mud slick with remnants of snow. Tear apart the space between “from” and “to.” Where are you going? Where will you take us?
Where will we go, together?
Tell us about what it’s like to see green again. Tell us if you were warm this winter; tell us if you were too warm. How did it feel? What’s it like to miss the frost? We want something about what it’s like to be in this changing plane. Are you wandering? Tell us what you’re looking for. Tell us something about peony pink and watching things grow. Tell us if you’re growing too.
an expression of new beginnings and inevitable endings.
the cycle, the struggle, where we begin and where we end.
the old and the new: how does one need the other,
how do we need?
what does it feel like to finally come up for air?
after months of cold, how is life found in the light?
always raw, open and unapologetic.
Tell me about blooming–the way it feels to have the warm sun touch your cheek after the winter months. Talk to me about all your new beginnings and how you plan to grow. Tell us about the sounds roots make when they dig into the soil, the way it feels have dirt under your finger nails, what it is like to experience that deep thaw after the snow melts. Talk to us about what it is to be new. I’ve sunken into a never-ending Netflix binge, blanket up to my neck, fuzzy socks up to my knees, and I need you to pull me out of it. We need you to tell us its okay to explore, to be barefoot outside once again.