a surefire way to know nothing at all is to fight about everything you see.
someday you’ll open the door, after a winter-ball of months rolled up under the carpet comes yardballing out across the floor – you’ll open the door; you’ll see a field of purple crocuses dancing on the hill. you’ll see spring rooting through the soil – pushing, baby-lunged and pregnant, waiting to burst. the prenatal core of the earth placenta-flooded and filled with grass waiting to turn green. you’ll see, you’ll see; one day you’ll open the door and spring will be staring back like an anchor. like a river. like something you can wade in to/float along, swim down, dive deep, dig wild. and wilder. come back, old wild one.
someday you’ll open the door; you’ll see a field of purple crocuses dancing on the hill.