First Days
It’s the first. Making this declaration every season, I call the first day of Spring today. I got that inkling of the next season’s flavor. A small inkling, but an inkling none-the-less. We aren’t finished with the old season yet. Winter will rear its head, but usually does not stay past its welcome. I felt the Vitamin D3 boring into my pores. I sought any patch of sun, no matter how fleeting at 3:30 because the arms of the ridge-bowl shouldered it away from my vantage below. Spring, when the sun is my friend.
Calling the first day of the season creates a relationship between me and the outside world where I have to pay attention. I have to keep tabs on what’s going on out there or I’ll miss it. Sometimes I’m out of town and I call it late. As far as my recorded history goes, the beginning of Winter is usually around the end of January or the beginning of February.
One of my favorite parts about this ritual is the lack of a calendar telling me what to do. You will feel this way on this particular day it says. Nature speaks softly. I must be listening. And, with an approximate average of six weeks to go left in the season, the equinox (and solstices) fall in the middle of the next season, when it will be in full tilt. In this case, the Vernal Equinox in March; the calendar’s proclamation of the first day.
This practice gives me co-ownership with the physical realm. I am part of something if I notice I am.