Stepping outside this morning with my eleven year old, he turns to me and says, “Listen to the birds - spring is coming,” before flitting off with a spring in his step.
Meanwhile, I’m wrapped up in a down coat, hat, scarf and mittens this morning. And patches of snow still cover the yard. I suspect that I don’t have the same skip in my step as I make my way down the front walk.
But my son has offered me a gift, so I am going to pay attention.
I free my ears from their fleece insulation and, sure enough, I hear the sporadic chirp of a petite bird, and then another. Their syncopated rhythm suggests hopefulness, possibility.
I notice the bricks below my feet - dry and sandy. Gone is the sheer ice we skated tentatively across all winter. I lengthen my stride.
The calendar aside, spring has not truly arrived here in the Berkshires. I could complain about the extended winter, the late March snowstorm that arrived after we had finally melted all our winter snow, the long underwear that is yet to be packed away. I have a hat and scarf on as I sit here typing.
Instead, I am listening for the birds at my window. The sun has come out and the air is still. The birds sound busier. I imagine them aloft in the pine tree across the way, plumping out their feathers against the chill and singing encouragement to the sun:
We’re here, we’re ready, let the season awaken!
I realize that I have a choice: I can hibernate in my kitchen with my hat and scarf and wait for the eruption of spring before showing my face, before dipping my bare toes into the dewy grass, or I can turn my face to the strengthening sun and appreciate the moments it shines upon me - I can skip down the walkway and notice the morning birdsong.
My son is excited for the arrival of warmer weather for playing outdoors and for baseball season.
What possibilities does this early spring morning offer to me?
Coming out of hibernation, turning over the nutrient-rich soil of my being with a series of expansive sun salutations, noticing the connections that are beginning to sprout in my new life - like tiny tender shoots of possibility and care.
What possibilities does this early spring day offer to you? How might you stretch into the realm of awakening?
Meanwhile, I’m wrapped up in a down coat, hat, scarf and mittens this morning. And patches of snow still cover the yard. I suspect that I don’t have the same skip in my step as I make my way down the front walk.
But my son has offered me a gift, so I am going to pay attention.
I free my ears from their fleece insulation and, sure enough, I hear the sporadic chirp of a petite bird, and then another. Their syncopated rhythm suggests hopefulness, possibility.
I notice the bricks below my feet - dry and sandy. Gone is the sheer ice we skated tentatively across all winter. I lengthen my stride.
The calendar aside, spring has not truly arrived here in the Berkshires. I could complain about the extended winter, the late March snowstorm that arrived after we had finally melted all our winter snow, the long underwear that is yet to be packed away. I have a hat and scarf on as I sit here typing.
Instead, I am listening for the birds at my window. The sun has come out and the air is still. The birds sound busier. I imagine them aloft in the pine tree across the way, plumping out their feathers against the chill and singing encouragement to the sun:
We’re here, we’re ready, let the season awaken!
I realize that I have a choice: I can hibernate in my kitchen with my hat and scarf and wait for the eruption of spring before showing my face, before dipping my bare toes into the dewy grass, or I can turn my face to the strengthening sun and appreciate the moments it shines upon me - I can skip down the walkway and notice the morning birdsong.
My son is excited for the arrival of warmer weather for playing outdoors and for baseball season.
What possibilities does this early spring morning offer to me?
Coming out of hibernation, turning over the nutrient-rich soil of my being with a series of expansive sun salutations, noticing the connections that are beginning to sprout in my new life - like tiny tender shoots of possibility and care.
What possibilities does this early spring day offer to you? How might you stretch into the realm of awakening?
 | Jessica Curtis is a professional coach who helps people cultivate intention and live from a place of meaning and authenticity. If you think you could benefit from working with Jessica or want to invite her to work with your group, reach out to start a conversation. |
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