Now it is spring and snow continues to fall, splashing wetly against windowpanes. We know it will not last on the ground forever but it can make you feel like winter has not and will not ever end.

If you let it, that is.

There have been times in the past year or so when my periods of transition have threatened to crush me with feelings of fear and hopelessness. Times when I let myself believe that the crusty snow, covered in filth from all that winter has brought, will never melt away and reveal the tender ground beneath.

Indeed, I have allowed a massive wall of hardened snow to grow around me in that I no longer feel like a writer. Despite my saying to myself constantly and consistently, “You should write today,” I find many reasons and excuses not to. The truth is that there is no one and nothing to blame but myself. Indeed, I’m responsible for my own abduction. I’m the one who brought me underground and would not let me riFredericLeighton-TheReturnofPerspephone(1891)se. I’m the one who has kept myself in this perpetual winter.

Now, it’s time for me to push up and out. To rise.

I will and return to this mother who is always there for me. The one who comforts me when I’m lost and reminds me what it is I have come here to do and that is to make sense of this world through my words and to seek out my vulnerability and reveal it to the light.

You, rise with me. Your heart is strong and your voice true. Sing out and welcome the spring of your words. Do not be afraid.

 

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