Swings, Roots, and Resilience

on spring

“But it’s so dark + cold out there,” said fox. “How am I supposed to go on?”

“Learn from the audacity of trees,” replied bird. “They bud even in winter, trusting warmth + light will always find a way.”

Thoughts
There under that leafless tree,
a moment, waiting to unfold.

The hill path muddy and grey.
So heavy. So hard.

Yet she approaches, curious and shy.
Small feet swimming in big boots, tiny ears reddened with cold.

She’s five. And nine. And 23. And 47.
She’s every between. She’s you. She’s me.

“I don’t know if I can, any of it, all of it.”
That dull wind biting sharply, again + again.

Yet she persists, one foot, then another.

Cresting, she sees it.

Her eyes widen and lips part, a quick breath taken.

Standing there on her tiptoes with mittened hands, she reaches out.
A gentle push. Then another.

You can see the memory returning,
a smile rising on tear-streaked cheeks.

With care, she unlaces her boots, takes off her socks.
Earth, cold and wet, squishing between her toes.

With a shallow inhale, yet as deep as she can,
She pulls herself up onto the swing, its wooden seat worn smooth with love.

“Today,” she says. “Today.”

Slowly then, dipping her head, kicking her feet. And again.

The arc growing with every swing – painting hope across a winter canvas.

Her hands, still holding tight.
She exhales.
And with her the world.

Deep are the roots, of it all.

Be gentle with her.
With yourself. With others.

Today, one foot. Then another.
Painting hope across your canvas.

How can you spread (or treat yourself to) a little light + warmth today?