On my almost-daily walks, I’ve been intently trying to find signs of spring.
I search the ground cover for the tiniest of flowers struggling to emerge, but see nothing. I scan the bare branches of trees for hints of itty-bitty buds bursting forth, yet find none. I listen for the musical voices of songbirds, but hear only the honks of overwintering geese.
It’s not just that my mind and body are ready for what feels like life reasserting itself against the stasis of winter and all the coldness of this particular one, coming up on the two-year anniversary of a pandemic that somehow has suddenly become a not-pandemic pandemic (through the “magic” of statecraft and capitalism), not to mention the icy onslaught of book bans, anti-trans and antiabortion laws, fascist convoys, wars, and so much more.
It’s that we all need ongoing senses of promise, even if in the smallest of ways, to keep the fire burning in our hearts. We need reminders right in front of our own eyes that there’s so much around us that refuses to go along with the disasters forced on us and this earth, and instead offers up fierce beauty as well as resistance. Like the person in Ukraine who beautifully used a jar of cucumbers to knock out a militaristic drone or the queer person I met the other day who just opened up a beautiful radical community space in a midwestern town lacking such spots with someone they met on the streets during the George Floyd Uprising.
So at the end of yesterday’s walk, on a day when I’d almost forgotten that sense of possibility, of futurity, and when I’d yet again failed to see any sign of spring and was about to give up looking, I stumbled on this freshly emergent little bit of graffiti: #AllCrocusesAreBeautiful!
Spring is here, always, because of all of us, surprising each other with flowery gestures even in the bleakest of moments.
#AllComradesAreBeautiful #ACAB #CareNotCops
(photo: #ArtOfResistance as seen on stolen Anishinabeeg lands in so-called Lansing, MI)