Writer's block

For the past week I've been trying to focus on something to write.  I'd have an idea, write it out, and something was missing.  I knew what I wanted to say but couldn't find a way to say it articulately.  I had the beginning and the end but could not figure out the middle.  After racking my brain and writing five different (still unfinished) posts, I've decided to share this clip.

Things are changing rapidly; it's nice to know some things will be funny forever.

Enjoy.


To Spring

O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!

The hills tell each other, and the listening
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth,
And let thy holy feet visit our clime.

Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.

O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languished head,
Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee.

To Spring, William Blake

Perspective

Last week the sun finally came out.  The warehouse I work at was electrified, buzzing with excitement from the blue skies and sun-rays.  It consumed our thoughts, our conversations, our phone calls.  We could not talk about anything but the sunshine.  We were obsessed!  We were transformed!  It's finally here, it's finally here!  Amid our parade of happiness one of our regulars came to pick up a flower order.  He is always happy and today was no exception.

Do you see winter or the first sign of Spring?
I, like a girl with a crush, brought up my new-found obsession while ringing him up.  He smiled (like he always does) and said, "The sun is always shining, whether we can see it or not.  When it's cloudy, it's still there; even at night it is still shining.  It's all about perspective."

Thanks, bro.

Rain.  Parade.  Over here.

I rolled my eyes, handed him the invoice, and told him to enjoy the rest of his day.  After some time had passed and I had been inside the completely windowless warehouse, the crush started to crumble.  The excitement was waning; clouds were rolling in.  I started to think about what he'd said, really chew it over.  Is that REALLY that how this guys thinks?  Is it even POSSIBLE to be that happy... all the time?

Is it?

As I thought about it, I realized that I have never seen this man frown.  Not once.  Never.  Doesn't matter if it's snowing, foggy, or slick.  He smiles.  And he smiles genuinely.  He really means it.  Sure, it's snowing and there is an inch of ice on the roads: who cares!  I'm happy to be here!

Everyday is sunny for him.  Every single day is energized.

As Bob Dylan said, "We always did feel the same we just saw it from a different point of view."

I don't know if I'll ever be able to feel the sun's rays when it's past midnight; it is nice to know, however, that even if I can't feel it, sun's still there.

Earthquakes

An earthquake just shook Taiwan; it appears to not be devastating, catastrophic like the one in Haiti in January.

The hits keep coming.

Miranda Lambert's song "House That Built Me" has officially turned me to country music.  It's lied dormant for years and is finally set free.  The best friend and mother love it.  Now the boyfriend is constantly tuned in.  I knew I was goner when I heard "Johnny and June" for the first time.  A 'new to me' song by Heidi Newfield was exactly what I've been searching for though these rocky and shifting times.

These past few months have been incredibly challenging.  Blow after blow after blow after blow; barely enough time to catch your breath before you dodge another right hook.  Miraculously I have managed to find my footing but the ground continues to shake beneath my worn out boots.

The sun came out for the first time yesterday.  The world is slowly waking; the ground is blotchy with snow and the birds have started to call to the sun, welcoming Her back for another season.  For the first time, maybe ever, I can hear their song and share its plight.  I long for Spring.  I have always considered Fall my favorite season: the leaves, the sweaters, the cider, the air.  Fall is the smell of brand new pencils and the fading of summer tans.  The appeal of Spring has been lost on me until now.

Right now female polar bears are leaving dens for the first time in four months.  They have been living in darkness with no food for almost 122 days.  The sun has come out and her cubs, who most likely will not survive their first year on earth, are seeing the world for the first time.  Polar bear cubs are born blind and deaf; they are hearing for the first time, too.  The entire world is new.

Almost immediately the mother and cubs will begin a treacherous journey across miles and miles (and miles and miles) of the Arctic Circle; she and her young must reach the glaciers before they are completely separated from the shoreline if any of them want to live.  They make this trek alone: the male of the species will actually try to kill the cubs.

But for now, there is sun, freedom, and a brave new world for the mother and her cubs.  There is something so incredibly magical about that.  I want connect with that feeling of bliss.  I want to feel the sun warm my face and not worry about the trek set before me.  No melting glaciers for me today: in this moment, I am still.

With each bird's call, with each new bud, with each setting sun, I can feel the world crying in unison, "It's almost here!  It's almost here!  It's almost here!".  Hope electrifies the air.  Hope, anticipation, and joy.

Can you feel it?