{#npm: 12 – potential}

Was thinking the other day of the glib frothiness with which we infuse Spring metaphor – all that talk about rebirth, depicted with peaceful pastels, fluffy chicks and quivering-nosed bunnies. Never having given birth, that still seems a bit suspect. I remember my sister after the nephews – both times she looked like she’d gone 12-rounds with a prizefighter. Not a lot of fluffy pastel peace to be had there. Birth – and rebirth alike – seems a messy, chaotic and overwhelming battle, from my observation. I suspect Springtime also contains such tension in its bunched buds…

“blessed event?” all
clenched and knotted buds, boding
bloom-rich eruptions