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The Sweet Breath of Spring
Call it middle-aged nostalgia, but early spring always brings me back to the days of my youth. Back to the days of fantastic neighbors, people that all enjoyed life and made the best of it. Back to quality family gatherings and back to a privileged time storing away precious memories of my surroundings.
Spring is a time for cleaning. Getting rid of unwanted clutter that you never use for re-organizing and making new plans. Clearing out the dead foliage from the gardens left by winter and making room for the color of new plants to take their place.
And the unmistakable scent of gardenia blooms that fills the courtyard area. I miss the small wondering shallow creek, that I tromped through so many times in search of the perfect rock, the deer moss growing on a stick or some beautiful fern that I could take and give to mom. A place hidden between the surrounding layers of oak and pine trees and, not to forget the tall thick cypress trees that stood in a stunning collection at the waters edge.
Oh how I often wish I could get back to that simplistic time of my life before I immersed myself in the hard race of business.
Spring is a time of listening to the echoing voices within the changing shadows that cover a vast majestic landscape that makes up this nation.
Spring to many Native American Tribes was the place of the East located on the Medicine Wheel. A drawing of the sun, a new day, a different fresh way of seeing an old problem. A place where new ides are to be tested and a time when the imagination develops into reality.
The earth is the mother of all people, and all people should have equal rights upon it. You might as well expect the rivers to run backward as that any man who was born a free man should be contented when penned up and denied liberty to go where he pleases.
Joseph Yalatkit - Nez Perce Chief
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