Everything is blooming most recklessly;
if it were voices instead of colors,
there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.
remember the rise and the fall of passion as life ebbs and flows……..dust it off from winter’s quiet and relive an old memory, an old way of being, an old delight……spring calls us into our best selves, full of light, full of sweetness, full of compassion….
With the first beam of sun, the ice began to drip from the imprisoned trees and every fiber of shrub and tree to quiver with aspiration, as though a clod should suddenly find a soul.
In the watcher’s heart, too, had come another Spring, for once in time and tune with the outer world. The heart’s seasons seldom coincide with the calendar. Who among us has not been made desolate beyond all words upon some golden day when the little creatures of the air and meadow were life incarnate, from sheer joy of living? Who among us has not come home, singing, when the streets were almost impassable with snow, or met a friend with a happy, smiling face, in the midst of a pouring rain?
The soul, too, has its own hours of Winter and Spring. ~Myrtle Reed McCullough
The soul has an absolute, unforgiving need for regular excursions into enchantment. It requires them like the body needs food and the mind needs thought. ~Thomas Moore