“Grieving to Prepare for the Grow”
In March, Spring finally arrived.
This time, not as a mere whisper
But as a voice, continuously speaking.
It was so energizing that I thought she’d
Be my energy
But, I forgot that
Comes the tilling
And the waiting
Even the grieving
You cannot plant the new seeds
Until the soil is ready
I haven’t touched the old garden beds
Since I last accepted that my garden had
In a sense
Back at the beginning of autumn, I grabbed a hold of my
And my cherry tomatoes
And named those small victories
I let the soil and the ground be
At the mercy of Winter’s sting
Winter took out nearly all of the weeds
But, it also took the wood surrounding the garden beds too
The soil fell loose as the wood rotted away
We were not outside much to really even see
Until the whispers of Spring
I was so enthralled by the whispers
That I forgot
I forgot the work that comes into preparing
I forgot that the residue of Winter lingers
In March, there are still days where the cold air
Takes your breath away
Some days, the sun is so deceiving-
There is warmth in the blue sky
But not always in the air outside
It is not that Spring itself has deceived me
She’s beautiful and healing
In all her glory and blooms.
She just requires
More of me
Than I remembered
I’ve got a lot of new seeds
Waiting to be planted
But the soil must be tended to first
The weeds that have been arising
Must be confronted too.
There is time though.
There is time.
I needed to be reminded that
We must first grieve
What winter took away.
We must hold space for what we have walked through
Before we enter into
Newness is coming.
Newness is here.
But so too is all we have made it through.
Even in the blooms of spring
You have permission to grieve
You have permission to grow slow