Spring is a new beginning…

This Monday March 20th at 6:29 am EDT, marks the equinox and the first day of spring. An undeniable shift will be happening in the natural world on that particular day at that particular moment; a shift that ushers in spring a time of growing light and warmth.

When I was a child, each year around this time my mother would place a tiny book called, “Spring is a New Beginning” on the coffee table in our living room. I’d pick it up and pour through the pictures reading it again and again until I could almost recite the words by heart.

I still remember the contentment that would bloom inside of me as I sat there with that book in hand.

Mom sent me a copy one spring many years later when I was pregnant with my youngest son. I still have it now and although the illustrations seem kitschy and the words seem somewhat trite, reading it still conjures the feeling of “all is well”.

Spring is a new beginning…one that each year I am grateful for.

During this time of the spring equinox, stop for a few moments and tune into this new beginning that is so apparent in the natural world. Look to the birds calling out and the strengthening of the sun’s warmth and the flowers that are pushing through the earth to remind you that new beginnings are all around you.

Then look within yourself for signs of spring. What is gently but assuredly waking up in you?

Let yourself be changed by this season of new life.

Here’s a poem by Mary Oliver to support you in your quest.

Such Singing in the Wild Branches

It was spring
and I finally heard him
among the first leaves––
then I saw him clutching the limb

in an island of shade
with his red-brown feathers
all trim and neat for the new year.
First, I stood still

and thought of nothing.
Then I began to listen.
Then I was filled with gladness––
and that’s when it happened,

when I seemed to float,
to be, myself, a wing or a tree––
and I began to understand
what the bird was saying,

and the sands in the glass
for a pure white moment
while gravity sprinkled upward

like rain, rising,
and in fact
it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing––
it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed

not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers,
and also the trees around them,
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds
in the perfect blue sky–––all of them

were singing.
And, of course, so it seemed,
so was I.
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn’t last

For more than a few moments.
It’s one of those magical places wise people
like to talk about.
One of the things they say about it, that is true,

is that, once you’ve been there,
you’re there forever.
Listen, everyone has a chance.
Is it spring, is it morning?

Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then––open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song may already be drifting away.

-Mary Oliver

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