Deep down in the earth it is ferrous, dark, and damp. Cloying soil bonded to every hair of my gnarly, twisting, entangled roots. I feel the humic crumb sticking to me, coating my skin, and blocking my airways. The winter has been long and hard. My lungs are bursting with the effort to breathe. Desperate to inhale deeply and gulp in the sweet rejuvenating air of spring.
February comes and a tiny crack in the soil appears above me. A single shard of bright sunlight cuts through like a laser, finding my pale quivering form. I feel its warmth start to soften me, relax my tense muscles and clenching jaw. First one long deep breath, then another. Spring has come.
The buds around me are stretching and yawning. Responding to the call to wake up, slowly reaching fingers for the surface. The chorus of birdsong heralds our awakening. Spring has come. Now I too am pulling myself up from the dank darkness of the winter's cave. I open my eyes and brush the clinging soil from my brow. Blow it out from my nostrils, cough it out of my lungs, and take that first sweet breath of morning. Spring has come.
It fills my heart with gladness, even as the memories of the dense humid earth fall away. Cells are dividing and multiplying, extending and creating new parts of life. Tendrils unfurling to open their faces to the sun. It has been a cold lonely winter, but now I am climbing the steps up and up from the darkness. We are all rising as one, heads peeping above the surface, widening the cracks to let more light pour down to our roots. The earth held space for our dying, gently nudging us towards our rebirth. Now I feel the ecstasy of what it means to be alive. For Spring has finally come.
