scabs and bugbites

The weather is more turbulent now, which is energizing and not like the winter consistency of heavy gray clouds and a continuing curtain of rain. Instead there are episodes of brilliant sun where I shed the jacket, followed by hail. Wind gusts and fog and frost play a random leapfrog across the neighborhoods.

Spring is here and we had a few days to clear winter debris though the rains began again. The hydrangeas and shrubs are trimmed and most of the weeds were plucked from loamy and muddy soil. I’m so done with massive yard care.

I’ve got this itchy lump on my neck and thorn scabs on my scalp. When I lurch forward into weeding rituals I tend to go full force because I am so NOT into it. Get the job done. Now I look out the windows and see stuff budding and blooming instead of chores waiting for my attention.

Spring season includes pollen allergies, itchy bumps on various places of my body, and cramps where I didn’t realize I had under-worked muscles. And we’re still making fires in the woodstove to take the chill out of the rooms.

But I’m halfway through the rewrites on my novel and continue to be amazed at some scenes, delighted with some dialogue, and totally appalled at how I diluted conflicts, missed the story points, and backed into the drama because I didn’t see the power of hitting it straight on.

I know that where we place our intention is what we create and I created a solid story and a cast of characters with potential. Just like the gardens I created around my home to establish themselves years ago and now just need a little attention and water.

The similarity is charming because what I’m creating now in my novel is a better presentation of a story. I’m just pruning debris and letting the buds blossom. In both cases I’m the one in power.

I can snip delicately and avoid the thorns or plow forth and realize the thorn makes a more interesting story. Seriously, there’s one scab right at my hairline and another on the back of my head. Then that bug bite, it was oval and angry behind my ear and now is an itchy pebble I can’t see but will feel often.

I have to consider my power over Mother Nature is limited, she will quake and crack some of the best engineering.  She’ll also drop a spider on my shoulder and give thorny vines a resilient root.

The beauty of each spring is the presentation of a new season and the appreciation that I store after-bite medicine in the drawer.