Slow thing, Springtime. Slow enough to call it painful, excruciating even. What they don't tell you, is that there’s a Springtime to our soul, as well. It’s more than just weather, more than the first bit of breeze on our t-shirt arms, it’s a thawing of all that froze inside us during the Winters we swear will never end. We stand at the edge of our front porches and shut our eyes, thinking if we cannot see, we can feel it sooner. Warmth is felt first, we say to our frostbitten selves, and search out the red glow on the backs of our eyelids. We wait for heat in from the West.
It’ll come, though we forget this. It’ll come, though we lose sight when all we know for months at a time is snowfall and chill. Sometimes, it’s the windows we’re not ready to open that need to come first, on our houses, to our souls. Only then, can the melt begin.
Slowly shuffle forth,
warm Spring of my longing soul,
heat in from the West.
Haiku on Life by Tyler Knott Gregson
Song of the Day
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It’s wild here, in the West.
Opening lets all that in.
Who would ask for such
an exquisite pain?
That shot is stunning.