“In truth each day is a universe in which
we are tangled in the light of stars.”
I’m caught this morning in a tangle of time: how the leaves have their own version of it, waiting all winter, then swelling for several weeks and bursting forth in what seems a moment. Many have already flowered, small seeds growing, insects chomping on leaves, other insects ready to chomp on insects, spring ephemerals blooming before they are shaded. Life is powered by the sun, higher and higher in the sky each day. Just two weeks ago the Forsythia blooms were covered in late snow.
When I think of my life, spread over years or a tree’s with life longer than several human lives, time becomes a crazy quilt of tangled moments, as if seen through my macro lens, and then mashed together with long, beautiful landscapes where time seems irrelevant.
No answers here this morning. The Forsythia blooms are fallen, replaced by unfurling leaves. Maybe I can listen what the blue sky or the Cardinal have to say about this tangle of mine.