It’s hard to find a lot of words for greening of the soul.  Hildegaard had one: veriditas.  I throw myself on the greening of the season to remind me of my timid new season of soul.

Overnight the bushes busted buds.  The sun teased them out, now with a bump in their loins promising progeny.  The poplars reveal tiny appendages at regular intervals.  Little woody branches that will transform to full fleshed leafy green.  Still brown and stiff, their bare bones flaunt the miracle of change.

Is my life built on fear or love?  Is each of my actions a flag of faith or a foolish human detour?

A huge log shows the sign that a big dog gripped the wood with fierce determination to haul it with him–a sign of strength and prowess.  Is that what I do with struggle and challenge–to show off my so-called toughness?  Or is that just the way of human life: back and forth, faith and fear, spirit enjoying a human experience.  Am I in the joy of it?

It looks like a little girl got up early and put curliques on every branch.  Little hearts and spirals and circled dots.  Green is happening in the fields and forest.  Weed stalks vermillion in stead of brown, grass soaking up mud making slender chartreuse spears.  Even the moss looks brighter, face shiney and full.

Patience is paying attention to my surroundings for Divine signs.  Impatience reminds me to watch the path for a seasonal shift and gives me moments of deeper breathing.  To surrender into the now–just the way it is.  When my best ideas dissipate into the greening of Her perplexing peace.