Sometimes I still hear sirens in the silent spaces. An echo of the before my body still responds to. The before I can blink. The before I recognize the shape of a memory lurking like a shadow on the present moment.
As I write this, the cherry trees are breaking open their blossoms in the heart of winter. I am left to wonder whether they are rooted in some deeper rhythm I cannot see, or if they have simply confused the passing of a warmer wind before the cold sets in.
I have yet to uncover how it is we can know the difference. As far as nature has told me, there is only learning through the risk of trying to bloom at each and every opportunity, and trusting you have the strength to survive whatever may come.
To wait to feel unshakeable sureness is to wait too long.
- S.
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