Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" I hope you are hale and hardy today,
On Sunday I went to my Druid Grove. We meet in a large state park outside Philadelphia.
After such a cold and snowy winter, the park still looks beaten-down and shellshocked. There's not much green. Nevertheless, on an unseasonably warm afternoon, I could easily find little buds shooting out of the ground. I also could hear the songs of birds that don't venture into the Jersey flatlands -- the phoebe and the towhee.
I thought to myself, "Spring rolls around every year, and the birds sing, and the buds open up, and the wheel makes a circle."
Then I thought about that circle for a moment.
The birds singing are not the same birds that sang in the park 10 years ago. Those birds have died. These are new ones. The buds coming up are replacing dead foliage. Everything looks and sounds the same, but the cast and crew have changed. This is because, while the wheel turns, life is still linear. We're born, we're young, we mature, we age, we die. New people take our places.
From this cheery little meditation rose the thought that my youth -- my personal springtime, to be metaphorical -- was very difficult indeed. My mom was sick, my family was poor. Everything was a struggle. College was no picnic either. Then I jumped straight into maturity. A long-term relationship, children, cats. Let's not forget the parrot. And all the time I have worked. Constantly since I turned 16. I even worked part time while I was in college. I went back to work two days after The Heir was born.
If I look at my biological calendar, it's time to enter autumn. But I'm not going to do it. Fountain of Youth be damned. I want my springtime!
So, if you will, take an axe to the brittle, old parts of Anne. Let the new growth erupt. Time may be linear, but I'm going to cheat the clock. I'm going to have the first part last. Howl at the moon. Catch a shooting star. Kick up my heels and dance in the rain.
Spring comes every year, but this time I'm going to jump on and ride that train.