Spring in Boston

The day continues in shades of grey washed by the grey rain, the grey ocean is rushing into the shore while a distant light shines orangely from the misted shore, barely visible across the bay. I'm in Rockport sitting wrapped in a blanket on the balcony, the beach below me deserted and I feel sequestered, safe, able to nurture whatever is within.

I drove up alone, my heart swelling to Invocation--a tape given to me by a friend--feeling transcendence as I moved through the changing landscape, the wind and rain swept view of traffic, brakelights off and on glowing red. The traffic thinned out and I came at last to a two lane highway winding my way toward the sea. The windshield wipers kept rhythmic time in a world where everything changes and nothing lasts. Swelling buds of trees were hidden in the rainy wintry scene and the spring that was promised had suddenly vanished.

Spring here comes ever so slowly. After a week or so of sunshine, rain and cold returned. Forsethia, tulips, daffodils are in bloom and dripping cold, wet rain. Spring comes in fits and starts and then stalls completely. It stalls and stops like now-- which looks like a winter evening--glove and hat weather. But I like it. It gives a person time to treasure the warmth when it's there--to glory in it and then experience the panic of having it disappear and the necessity of remembering winter and how to live indoors. So one gets ot move back and forth betwen seasons, cherishing new green, then honoring the cold truth, letting flowers beckon, noticing the maple leaves appearance, and seeing snow fall on them. I love this mix of season, this chimera of promise, the feast of joy and anguish that is life's surge forward into new life.