I celebrate the miracle day that hitches a ride on winter’s bedraggled tail. I celebrate the day that emerges, as if by sheer magic, from the cold and dreary fog...the day that demands that all windows be thrust open to flood dusty rooms with joy. You recognize that day. We all do. It visits once each year...this day of beloved blossoming.
As I throw back the curtains and breathe in the warmth and light,
I feel my heart and soul burst open, releasing all that had been confined or left for dead during the dark and frigid winter. Chimes seemingly ring as I burst open and become weightless. Gravity holds no sway on a day such as this. All that I bore for so long, the darkness and my winsome dreams, ascend to Heaven.
In bygone years, when I was filled with passion and rainbows, the contents of my heart and soul burst forth as butterfly swarms. And I would chase along, rushing to embrace the world. More often than not, I would roll a somnolent motorcycle out from under its blanket. I’d strike a spark and resurrect my iron Lazarus to propel me hair flying into the gaily dancing sunlight.
I am quite a bit more gray these days, a bit more burdened by burdens. On this miracle day,
I crack and break to release the flocks of bats that have haunted my deep recesses. They, too, take flight...swooping, soaring, then disappearing. It’s all the same.
Whether filled with butterflies or bats, I float free on the fresh breeze.
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