The End of Spring

“When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason.” - Ernest Hemingway

When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason. When all the spring blooms would fall listlessly from the magnolia branches due to the gusts of uninvited winds, you felt as though you were told that they were out of your favorite type of granola at the supermarket. When the grass was no longer glistening with dew drops, but rather soaked through with mud, it was as though the person you love didn’t say “I love you” back right away, and you get that unholy knot in your throat that causes your words to get backed up, and you fear you’ll never be able to say, “I love you”, well, ever again really.

But then you realize that if you take a pure pause, all of these abhorrent aspects of the confused Ohio spring can be reimagined into an illustrious adventure. Those magnolia petals can be gathered and thrown into the air to create nature’s confetti, and you can celebrate the fact that the green leaves will soon take their place on the trees. That mud-soaked grass is perfect for planting a garden full of vibrant produce that will not only fill your belly, but fill your spirit because, hey, you grew that tomato. Yeah, you. That mud-soaked grass isn’t the choking of “I love you”, but rather the “Au Revoir” of your dearest friend who you are confident you’ll see again soon.

Interesting, is it not? That you can completely reinvent the ever-changing spring with a deep breath, a few blinks, and particularly palliative perspective?

You stop for a second and look at the rain pelting the windows in your kitchen. You stop and observe the way it creates little crystals on the screen, and how when the drops escape the screen and hit the glass, they furiously race each other to the bottom of the sill. You think about how every time the clouds open up to cry, they bless the earth with nourishing water. You think about how you wish your tears had that power. That if every time you cried, you nourished the ground beneath you, the world would be a much greener place. You ponder if your tears matter. You contemplate if your tears mean anything more than just water forming under your eyelids. You decide that yes, they do. They matter to you. They’re more than just salty water to you. And that is enough today.

You stop for another second before you open the door. You stop before you turn the knob. You become existential once again. You think about if it is even worth it for you to leave your enclosure. This place of simultaneous captivity and comfort. You decide it is incredibly important to go outside and experience the annihilation of spring. Because if you do not open that door, you might never experience the winds of change, and then my dear, how will you ever grow?

You step outside.