as slow as spring

Late last night I arrived home after looking for Home: here the footprint, here the small harvest, here the collected years of living; there (wherever There is), the path leading on, the planting for spring, the arrow’s arc.

I see that, as experiences accumulate, the urgency of a moment is softened slightly. Or, if I am the agent of my change and not the world, I take ownership of the softening: I begin to mistrust urgency. So many use emergency as proof for arguments that have no basis… when it’s only another mask for fear, and one that we don’t often recognize. It’s only a fear of time, when time defines us.

The farmers that raised me watched weather come and go, watched the storm front rise in the west and sweep over the plain, watched that wind twist itself into a knot and begin to spin. They watched their planting whither under a late frost… more than once. They watched unseasonal rain drown their seedlings, and sun make a desert of their green hopes. Uncertainty was a family friend, and while cycles repeated themselves in turnings of the Earth, circlings of the Moon, and circuits round the Sun, the real project always seemed to be life itself, on a timeline that couldn’t be measured, and which stretched out ahead and out of sight.

“What’s all the fuss about?” When they shook your hand, they met you; and when they turned to their work, they said goodbye.

I arrived home after looking for Home, and maybe I will buy or I won’t buy; maybe I will build or I will not build; maybe I will harvest what I have planted in community… or maybe I already have.

It all matters, but is unimportant. The family and friends for whom I care, my Self, my communities (local, national and global) and how I care for them, is like my Earth: they come before the storm, and remain with me after it has passed. They are there when the sun goes down and when it rises again.

Good-night all. Hold those you love close tonight, remembering (despite all the noise and proferred fears) what it is we truly rely upon.


Ciclos” by VagnerVargas @ DeviantArt.com

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