In spring, my spirit becomes a child again. Maybe it’s the renewal of all living things that naturally makes me feel reborn. Or maybe it’s the fresh air, the ability to shed off the hat, scarf, earmuffs, and mittens and finally move my limbs – maybe that’s what makes me feel like wiggling, stretching, running, and jumping, breathing deep breaths and filling my lungs up with hope.
Where I live, spring has just begun. Nearly all the snow has melted except the stalwart remnants of what were once mountains created by the plows. The first week or two without snow cover is pretty gross. Fossilized remnants of dog poo line every side walk, along with bits of garbage, and rotting leaves that were piled up for municipal removal which never happened because the first snow came so early. Now we’re a couple weeks in and crocuses and other early bulbs are starting to push through the mud and proclaim “Yes! Life will return again! The winter was long, but you made it! Congratulations!”
In celebration of spring, here is a sort of springy/childlike painting. This one was inspired by a drifting-off-to-sleep mental image a couple weeks ago. One of the few where I actually wrenched myself out of bed to scribble down a note, instead of just trusting that I would remember it in the morning (I never do). Who knows what part of my unconscious thought it would make a pretty picture, but whatever part it was I quite agree with it. Hope you do too.