Spring equinox: the fraying edge
I'm not quite ready for the promise of spring, my wintering doesn't feel complete. Fen winds are still harsh although colour is returning, as are the goldfinches.
With this seasonal offering I wanted to honour the quiet before the coming surge that is spring proper. I have some contemplative music to share with you, a little poetry, and along with some personal musings, there are some journaling prompts for working this fraying edge between winter and spring, plus a favourite store cupboard recipe.
I like to deep-journal at these turning points in the calendar; it helps me find my feeling-tone as the world around me changes. As I pay attention, I am seeing clouds of blackthorn blossom being buffeted by north-westerly winds gusting across fields that are still struggling to drain from recent rains. I am seeing sea-birds, for which I have no names, coursing over these temporary bodies of water, their calls at odds with the ones I know: the crows, the goldfinches, the buntings. And, I am seeing late daffodils and hyacinths along with the misdirected innocence of the magnolia trees, which every year get their skirts out for a warm progression of days that never materialise until it’s too late and the skirts are in tatters.
It’s cold out. The weather feels ragged and while I have more energy and more plans, and am loving the longer days, I don’t feel ready to launch into spring with great speed or vigoiur. I want to hold onto the quietness of winter’s solitude for a little bit longer.
MUSIC
I am noticing in the maturation process that follows the menopause that I am spiralling around things that caught my attention in my earlier adulthood. It is as if I have to had to live a whole lot of life to now have the time to pick up the threads and braid them into whatever meaning I can make of them. I trip over references to philosophers and artists, archetypes and symbols, recurring themes and motifs, and I trust the synchronicity of it all.