... and spring is a process

I wake up

sun rays streaming through the dust and smoke

from a fire I realise I didn’t need to make. 

sun rays streaming through the window above the wooden table 

that somehow looks how a hug from my dad feels.

bird songs somehow seem louder than I remember them from the steamy august months. 

warmth seeps into my pores- a feeling I was sure was forgotten. 

somehow in those mid morning hours it seems like spring is mocking me. 

it seems like a cloudless atmosphere and blooming seed pods and the shocking green of new grass mutter among themselves,

“why doesn’t she feel as bright as we do” 

I try. 

More so, I release. 

I give gladness the space to bubble up, to relax my muscles that have been tight for 31 days. 

I allow my heart to slowly float to the surface for breath, even as my mind tries to convince me that sitting on the grimy lake bottom is what I want. 

In this moment, it I allow my breath to speak,

“it certainly is not”

And the next day? 

fog.

hovering over every tree top.

neighbours with {repetitively mentioned} scarves wrapped around their necks like nooses

and their faces like masks.

the flowers in my garden are still yellow but they droop from cold water droplets weighing on their petals. 

and my heart aches again, somehow worse than before.

i thought when my warm hopeful friend came that she would stay. that she would settle as I tried to. 

And so I feel that too. I choose to. 

To feel the dna-deep hope 

and life

and the breathtaking hurt

and loss 

and the g-force of whiplashing between the two.

spring is a process.