Hey friends! I stumbled upon a powerful poem by Philip Larkin, an English poet and novelist. I resonated with it instantly as he captured much of what I am currently experiencing with the coming change of season.

The Trees (1974)

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too.
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

Spring is on the horizon. Longer days and warmer weather, along with the vibrant colors and signs of life after another long winter that the season can bring, are something most of us long for when it arrives. I am usually the same, often feeling an internal darkness by February that matches my surroundings and that only the changing season can cure. This year, for me at least, feels different, and I wonder if others have felt the same about the change of a season at one time or another. Another change—loss, another one down, and one less winter to be lived; suddenly, I am reminded of time.

This winter wasn’t a wonderful one for me after losing my mother. With the passing of another winter, I can’t help but feel how swiftly life is moving, stopping for no one. Time stops for nothing, not love or loss or a quiet winter where everything is still—hibernating, an easy place to bottle up feelings and hunker down alone. Winter can be an easy place to disappear. And here we are again, another Spring. Some tulip greens are breaking through the once frozen ground, and I don’t feel ready, but onward I go, and my unpreparedness matters little. Maybe that’s the beauty of life that it moves whether you like it or not, showing you to survive, you keep moving forward, something I’ve always done, but I have also found the importance of pause and reflection, which is a beautiful thing winter gives us. A season of stillness to remerge a little more healed. I can not like it this year or be ready, but it’s coming regardless. I guess I can throw the covers over my head and ignore it, but the brilliant sun shining through the windows and smells of cut grass and flowers paired with dogs barking, eager to get out and walk, and the rest of life that lives louder in the warmer seasons are hard to avoid. So, with that, I will reemerge with it, I’ve decided, whether I am ready or not. I’ll move and be grateful the earth keeps showing me how. There is always a cloudy day to hunker down, but there is also life to be lived, and going through it kicking and screaming is something I gave up long ago. Happy Spring

Reminder: My next novel, The Summer Before, is coming out in October. I need to, and I am currently building my advanced reader team. If you‘d like an advanced digital copy and would be willing to read it before my publishing date, leave a review on the pub date after purchasing an E-book for 99 cents I would be forever grateful, and a free poetry book will be headed your way. Email me if you are an awesome friend and supporter, and let my team know. I can’t wait for you to read it!