Spring Resilience
The struggle to accept and be as the sap rises.
Published in
Apr 27, 2024
Already girded against others’ perceptions — strapped toe to chin in the gossamer wrinkles of a sun damaged skin -` I stride, flapping in my shorts, through throngs of kissed, firm limbs and plumped youth.
Yet, age has thickened my carapace which, like a becalmed sail, is held strong by a solid mast of conviction — that the wind will rise, filling the limp tissue with a new filled sense of purpose.
The wind will rise again, and I shall sail fairly, into Being, Living, Doing and Seeing…
Until it drops. Grief. Puncturing.
Daily, I stitch the tears — ready to embrace the next gust.
Girded.
