Snowbows

The other day, I was driving down to White River after that night of wind and rain that, for some of us, was wind and wet snow. No real snow here in Thetford, but the cars traveling past me from points west en route to 91 were topped with up to 5 inches of the stuff.

The drive down was grey and cloudy until—suddenly and piercingly—it wasn't, as a shaft of luminous light burst through the cloud covering somehwere near Norwich, to reveal a brilliant rainbow. This is NOT a photo from the drive (it wasn't safe to pull over and take photo at that point) but it was equally dramatic and took my breath away.

This is April in New England.

I say this to myself each Spring. And, you know that Prince song, "Sometimes it Snows in April"? That song haunts me though much of April, every year. While I don't know the origin of it, its spare, mourning tone always feels like something of a eulogy about dying too soon, or the tentative nature of Spring's promise of renewal, or the fragile nature of new life. In any case, Spring in New England is reflective of the adjacency of life and death, darkness and light, despair and rejoicing, mourning and celebrating.

It's a complicated, not always easy, mix of forces within nature and ourselves.

I wish you equanimity through the complex dance of opposing forces however they are showing up for you.
With love,
Leslie