Bloom

Oh soul, you’ve come back. It happens every time. It happens every year … I spend mornings calling you “be happy love” and “see it Alyssa, see it.” I call you and it’s a struggle to know if you will be alive or quiet or searching or just yourself.

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The snow melts and the quiet mornings are replaced with song. I look out my window and grass grows around stepping stones and branches are alive with buds and my brain is transported to a time I walked along a river and smelled sap. My nose is there and my mind is there and I know that I am it…and I can feel my essence flowing with the water and my heart flying with the birds and my soul dancing with oak leaves. I bend down and touch a wild violet and I’m disguised in purple. Oh soul, you are back. When the flowers bloom, you bloom and I’m grateful it’s that season again. 

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