Spring

Spring is always especially painful for me.
The first breaking through from the hard winter ground is the worst.

Everyone keeps telling me
"It's still winter, you dodo.
It's not spring yet."
And, technically, they would be right.
They'd also be wrong.

In this little part of the world,
the hardest work of spring has already begun.
Trees have started to push through
those first little nubbins, which will become buds,
and eventually blossoms and leaves.
Though the visible signs haven't started,
I can feel seeds stirring beneath the ground.
I can feel things making that aching reach
through the shell of winter.

When I say this is the worst part,
it's because this is when things
have to change momentum.

(Basic rule of physics:
An object at rest tends to stay at rest,
unless acted on by an outside force.)

The world is waking.

I am waking.

Like so many things,
I go dormant in the winter.
I revert to "safe" places,
people, and activities.
I don't socialize as much.
I don't self-examine as much.
In the spring, I start working on myself again.
I start going out again.
I shed all of those things
-- habits, people, whatever --
that have been holding me back.
Letting go is hard.
Finding flaws is hard.
All of the things that I've been holding on to
as security blankets get examined
and evaluated for worth.
Including my own ideas.

For days I have been standing
inside a glass bubble,
pounding fiercely.
It hurts to be trapped.
It will hurt in a different way
when the glass shatters.
But it will be worth every second
when I'm free and growing wild again.