the difference between our roots

The trees are graced once again by delicate green lace.  The wind kisses their tips, and they tremble exuberantly under the sensation, leaves tickling fingertip branches as the sap and marrow is stirred by the sunwarmth.

As the cat I took a year of full moons ago to stave off my newly vocal biological clock sneaks out, I feel once again the urge from some corner of my womb to create life, to nurture.  I shush my animal nature, perhaps not quite so respectfully as I ought--I am still learning to recognize my biology---  It is not time for children.  But it is time for other things...  My marrow and sap has been stirred, and the sunny days now outnumber the grey as my hopeful days outweigh my numb ones.

The old story of the godman raised from decay, Lazarus and Jesus knew full well the depth and resonance of Springtime.  That fear of death, that hope of cycling planets and stars which bring us back around to lace kissed fingertips.

My roots have grown too deep into this soil.  They have been doing it a log time, making me afraid to feel the cool air of the uproot.

It is time.

It is my turn to disconnect from possessions, put in storage what I wish to return to, decide which pieces I need with me.  Necessities are fairly easy, but how do you decide extras from excess?  We get to make that difference, I suppose.  Others may disagree, but the music, the art, the costumes, the colors, the creation---those are as important as the cookstove and tent.

The trees must commit to their roots, exist where they stand until they die or are felled.  We must do almost the same, but our roots are not so stuck.

Even people can get stuck, and even trees can be lifted and moved to other soil.