The air sings still of the weekend’s snow, of colder, darker months, not yet forgotten.
Such a sharp edge for the cresting of the new.
Too soon, and the late frosts will stifle the birthing.
Too late, and the time for frantic growth will be cut short on the other side of the seasons.
It would be easy to see it as a cycle of fear, cold death chasing until it catches and swallows.
I look out now and see the lie in the trail of life before me.
We do not grow away from the cold, from the death that would drown us.
We grow upwards, outwards.
Light, joy, love.
Those that grow do not cower from what-might-not -be.
Life is not for retraction, for burrowing back into the frozen earth.
Life is reaching, greedily grasping every breath of warmth, every ounce of joy.
For daring the frost, the snow, the unexpected, and shooting upwards-
Buds outstretched, furling into the sun.
The pursuit of joy has always served me better than the flight from fear.
For more of writing on joy and fear, both flight and pursuit, you can read my fantasy novel,The Guests of Honor. It is available here. The sequel, With Honor Intact, will be coming out on April 23, 2015.