Snow has given way to spring.
Only patches of ice remain
where sun rarely touches
or where snow was piled high.

Daylight lingers.
Mud reigns.

Ducks and birds return from their winter get aways
as early spring skies fill with their wings and their songs.

Spring is a boisterous jovial time, after the hush of winter.

It is not without care, though, as we look warily upstream.
Aware of the flood of water coming our way
as record snow up north begins to melt.
Aware of the volatility when cold and warm meet
stirring up storms and thrashing winds.

So we walk the delicate line
between the tugs and pulls
of barefoot abandon
and wind-whipped caution.

There is such temptation to ignore the dark skies.
To only revel in the bright sun of our happiness.

But when there is no denying the fierce storms,
the hard narrow places inside all of us,
can we resist the urge to quickly pass through it?
To fix whatever is causing our discontent
with haste born of fear, of not wanting to see?

If there were a lever to pull
that would get me to the other side
of whatever storms and struggles are in me,
I would be hard pressed not to pull it.

And yet, years, even decades of practice
steady my hand, lower it from the quick fix
and help me lean into the dark places.

At my best, I try to befriend this most uncomfortable of places.
With support, I poke around,
curious for what this unsettled place could call forward.
No doubt it holds wisdom that comfort knows not.

So with a deep breath, a wing and a prayer,
and the absolute necessity of belonging,
I offer this reminder.
With sun in my face and wind blowing my hair…

We all, every one of us, are both, are all.
All of the things that we love
and that we grapple with,
perhaps in equal measure.

To deny the hard stuck places
is to deny our wholeness,
our honesty, and our connection
to each other and to this Wild world.