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forsythia and worm poop

Today is the vernal equinox, a moment of time situated with soggy edges between the hard ice of winter and the crisp fire of summer. Emerging signs of spring whisper to us about where we are in orbit around the sun. Our relationship to the stars presses us into the thawing earth. I've seen the buds on the forsythia by my garage became more pronounced each morning this week, and I know that the soil and the sunlight work together to orchestrate this produce.

Lauren told me that robins begin doing things associated with their spring rhythms once they start noticing worm poop on the ground. The excrement of creatures that dwell in the earth signals change to the ones that flit through the sky.

I welcome this season of soft edges, of in-your-face reciprocity, of both/and. It reminds me that change is not an on/off switch, and that the quality of change is relative to where I am situated on this rock that’s spinning around the sun. Growth is not precise or certain or linear, but things are happening and we’re part of it all.

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solitude, sort of

There’s a place I’ve been going to the past couple of weeks. It’s a short drive on country roads to get there. There is a pond and trees and sky and a picnic table where I sit and take out my journal,

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