The sun is set to rise in five minutes and I take the moments in between to wonder how we can know such algorithms. Daybreak and nightfall like appointments, keeping their commitments to uncover and cover for as long as we spin here. They say the only certainty in life is uncertainty yet I consider the sun now breaching the horizon. Steady enough to be predicted and anticipated. Assured enough to draw worshippers from their beds to behold its daily novelty. What faithful fire. How fierce a gaze.

The wisteria has gone from budding to bowing. It’s metamorphosis, watching caterpillar to cocoon to chrysalis to emerging violet blooms. There are easily over a hundred flowers crawling out of translucent skin like anything that sheds the dead and comes forth new. The foliage is close behind and soon the vines will be once again invading beyond what I can manage. The twisting vines of wisteria can collapse a structure. It’s dangerously weighty and beautiful. Now I’m thinking of the sun again and how no matter how cogent, you mustn’t look it straight in the face. So many frighteningly divine elements. Beauty is alluring and powerful.

It’s already warm but my bare legs have the faintest goosebumps sensing the briskness that is spring morning. It’s the tinge of cool I enjoy on my skin though I am perfectly content. I slip off my shoes to read the temperature of the soil and I know it’s coming time for fragile plants to move outside. The whole world has a fever right now but the dirt is a safe place. In hiddenness they will take root and flourish unaware of the virus plaguing those of us made of dust. They will breathe the air, drink the rain, cross-pollinate without fear of contamination or infection. Perhaps I will bury myself headfirst in the garden until this passes. See what is perennial inside of me.