Spring Again
Do you ever think about how the fact that we walk on two legs is proof that we are altruistic creatures? Also, I got a PO box.
I got a PO box to send you a REAL letter. If you’re a paying subscriber, let me know your mailing address. :) As always, thank you very much for reading.
There is vitality in the sound of thunderstorms—BOOM, CRACKLE, RUMBLE—the popping of spring’s sleepy joints; Persephone is awake, and the verdant world swells and opens and reaches with her every stretch and yawn. Last night, you slept with your cheek against the pillow like a child listening through a wall. Lovers know God better than theologians. Life is begetting life is begetting life is begetting life.
Summer is for passion and delusion. Fall is for fashion and forgiveness. Winter is for drugs and sleep. Spring is for joy and openness. Spring is for tulips and two lips. Spring is for possibilities and choosing whatever makes you feel more alive. The universe is in estrus—seed now or regret it later—whatever you ask for in spring, you shall receive.
Come, let’s step outside.
The fingertips of trees are lime green and shy. There are broken beer bottles on the sidewalk. The youth are rowdy again and those thrice their age have forgotten what liberal idiots they once were themselves before they became conservative ones.
A pale yellow dog with a glossy fat rump suddenly rushes to a spot on the grass and circles a few times before arching its back and stepping its hind legs forward like a compass deciding on a smaller radius. Then, under the stiff root of a tail half-lifted, a pink bulb of flesh swells and squeezes out two or three earthy slugs before the folds of yellow skin close again and its tail releases back into a wagging rhythm.
Look—there’s a sketch of a stick figure on the ground, the stub of chalk still by its side. Crucified on cement, the figure smiles at the sky with a plain face, only two dots and a curve for a mouth. Today, the sun is dazzling, evaporating pluvial mercury pooled in potholes from last night’s April shower. How can death exist on a day when even the puddles look like blue skies?
Do you ever think about how unlikely it is for you and I to exist? Did you know the odds to be born on this Earth is one in four hundred trillion?