The old people pass on, new people are born.
The forest is burned but the ashes soon sprout new plants and trees. Dormant seeds pop open and germinate in the cleansing rain.
I'm thinking a lot about flames and ashes, and rising out of the ashes, and the coincidence of a horse named Phoenix. I think about blackened, warped steel and empty tombs.
I have decided to avoid doing much thinking about the really heavy subjects during the month of April... it's my worst month. While most people rejoice in green grass and daffodils, I wonder why I'm miserable. I shouldn't think about the future, or make any crucial plans.
I will just work.
I will fling scrap metal around, cart trash to the dump, pick bits of litter out of the ditches and the hayfield.
I'll breathe in the smell of my horses.
I'll write about it.
I'll be there for my loved ones.
We'll pick ourselves up and move on, because that's what we do. That's what we've always done. We'll rise out of the ashes.
(Happy Easter... rise and shine.)