By Sara Letourneau
Spring begins tomorrow.
You’d think it had already arrived after
a winter of little snow or cold.
I didn’t notice;
this year, winter raged in my soul.
Loss of friends, death of a loved one—
they brought winds that cut through my bones
and summoned tears. I stayed indoors,
having no desire
to reach out to others
yet yearning to be reached.
What a waste of time and life.
Self-pity, I’ve learned, only means more suffering
the longer you let it snow on you.
So I will end this season now. When I wake
in the morning, even if the hurt
lingers, I will run out the door
with every inch of me open
to greet the sun. I will stop to lean down
and comb the earth with my fingers
and smell its dampness. I will find
the nearest gazebo and then visit it again
during a rainstorm, so I can watch
nature’s madness at work.
And, I will smile
at more strangers and bid them “hello.”
to be acknowledged like the first flower of March—
as if they’re coming home,
as if their presence matters to at least
one living person.
So do I—and that will happen
once the season changes outside and within.