05/30/2024
As the last days of May bloom into June, I’m reflecting on the aggressive return of colour, life, and song during these past few weeks of spring. It’s been one of the greenest, most explosive rebirths in recent memory.
Birds and bunnies found safe places to nest close to our home. I’ve watched parents and babies follow their secret knowing along an ancient pathway: from hidden refuge, to birth, nurturing, and eventually, an empty nest.
Witnessing this sacred passage has been my quiet salvation. This spring has also been marked by profound loss - friends I love deeply have experienced the kind of losses that change you forever.
Superimposed on this is the devastation of an ongoing genocide, an Earth-sized shadow blocking out the sun. This year, Mother’s Day weighed too much. Too many mothers losing children. Too many children losing mothers.
These are crushing losses, but in the cracks that form beneath the friction of grief against love, like glacial movement across time and space, a beauty where life persists is left to take root. When the ice has retreated, flowers will grow.
I’ve heard it said that losing someone is to feel the most overwhelming knowledge of them, their life, and your love for them. The moment they stop being who they are, and instead become part of everything, is the moment we understand that love never leaves.
Be gentle with yourselves, dear ones. ❤️🩹
(📸 Carolina wrens nesting outside our home)
