I look out on fog this morning, thick gray fog which cuts the view to about twenty feet and yet there is a backlit quality as though the fog will soon lift or dissolve. Webs are highlighted in this wet light and I look out on three floppy, cottony, chewy-looking ones, which remind me in their ungeometrical, messy spread that spring cleaning might begin.
My closets look like these sheet webs, spread like hammocks between branches. Possessions are piled in a tangled mess. I see that I could form a spiral web of my belongings, make each closet a masterpiece of beauty, of art. Air could flow. Space could breathe.
I think of butterflies, of how their beauty seems for far more than reproduction, mimicry, camouflage and defense. They are so beautiful.
Perhaps, we, too, can revel in the complexity of our beauty, in the many ways we stir the air and spread pollen to connect through flowers and trees.
A friend asked this morning: How will you flower this spring? I ask it now of you, even those still caught in snow.
The day brightens and seasons give way in this rhythmic dance of change.