“Does the acorn dream of the oak? And if it doesn’t, from where is the whisper of spring?” Sophie Ward (From The Love River)
By: Gabriela Yareliz
It’s a quiet morning, with the exception of the gurgling of the radiator and my screaming neighbors (they are positively unwell
or just typical New Yorkers). We go through moments of icy floor chill, and then moments of bursting heat break forth (and I sit here fanning myself like a rural Alabama churchgoer). I feel a bit drowsy after my intense cleaning session yesterday evening (took down five bags of recycling). The kitchen is next. I have noticed an old empty cabinet, where the wall has cracks and little cockroaches have made an exclusive amusement park out of the black bait boxes. (#annoyed) This Six Flags is shutting down.
This morning, I woke up with a longing for spring. Maybe, it’s because there is no bright sunshine today or it’s my Amaryllis bulbs that are in full bloom, pomp and display on my little window-side table. I love the brightness and renewal spring brings. Maybe it’s the symbolic hope that fills me with longing after a new year start that has felt very much like a part II of the same chapter book that commenced with 2020. Perhaps it’s naive to think spring will be any different, but I hope against hope.
My mind goes to the Easter service we typically have at Central Park that I am always late to because the NYC train system decides to be full-on possessed on Easter Sunday. Sunshine, green grass, ambitious picnickers with their baguettes– gahh. My mind is there. I am there with the trees loaded with pink flowers and tulips and daffodils gracing our lives with their little stretches, showing us a new morning.
But for now, we curl up in winter’s slow slumber. While the season invites us to rest, life has our minds spinning. Life has, for better or worse, turned us into little insomniacs.
As we wait for spring,
prepare to bloom.