When you are a kid you experience the seasons. You notice on your walk to school the leaves changing, the bite of the wind, and the shortness of the days. Winter brings a bit of sorrow, the sawdust on the playground is frozen over, the chain on the swings is so cold it hurts to hold, and frost clings to the grass and wets your shoes and pant legs. The random snow day is your only liberation.

And then it happens. One day you take notice. There, out on the fields…there are wildflowers…everywhere. The sun is warming, the trees are budding, and the weeds are climbing. Spring has returned. The wind still bites your nose in the morning, but by noon you have to remove your jacket. The smell of things living is everywhere.

I’ve never seen spring so pretty. Here in central Texas the Gracken bird arrives in hordes, the blue bonnets and other flowers cover every meadow and fill every ditch, and the nights are warmer and smell sweet. The water from the recent rains fills every depression and the rivers, streams, and creeks run brown. The earthworms churn the moist mud, leave their castings outside their holes, and help prepare the soil to feed the spouting plants. The “petal sky and the rosy dawn” remind us all that the “world is turning on a burning sun”, and it is “the sacred wet and green one that we live on”, this is our GAIA.

Like my great uncle Johnny Appleseed so many years ago, this morning, I found myself planting seeds. Peach, nectarine, and plum pits inserted in the mud, a hole dug with a stick. Helping the circle of life, and oh so grateful for it all.

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