It's spring. The weather of course is crazy, sun, snow, rain, fog, sun, rinse, repeat. I love and hate it. I'd prefer that the warm weather and the flowers and the green would just arrive. Sunday was such a beautiful day. The whole day was car window down warm and sunny. I went for a walk and by the end of the day my nose and neck were pink.

The weather reminds me of something trying to break open and live. This reminds me of the lines of a poem. Forgive me I'll only quote part of it. It is from the poem "What is the Beautiful," by Kenneth Patchen

Pause.

And begin again.
Perhaps the shapes will open.
Will flying fly?
Will Singing have a song?
Will the shapes of evil fall?
Will the lives of men grow clean?
Will the power be for good?
Will the power of man find its sun?
Will the power of man flame as a sun?
Will the power of man turn against death?

. . . And begin again.
I know that the shapes will open.
Flying will fly, and singing will sing.

I think of resurrection, of all things being made new. When spring comes things become more themselves than they've been. I'm longing for the twigs that are barely passing for trees right now to begin to have leaves. We are still in the fit of wondering if we will make it to the long days of warmth and sun. Yesterday was somewhere in the 70's but today it's chilly and another storm is coming.