The Secret Spring


I went to visit a good friend in Brooklyn. I followed him through the gray city, as he led me through the loud abyss and revealed gems beyond compare. Bonsai trees and greenhouses warm and full of glistening plants. Japanese gardens with trees to sneak into, roses not even in bloom yet, Yemeni cuisine; lamb and stuffed grape leaves; long walks among trees in unexpected places. The city silenced its madness, and we were in our own world.

And that is what friends do. Create orbs of comfort, and find us the way in to joy.


Especially when you can't seem to get there yourself.


I don't particularly like the world all the time. It makes me nervous and it can be hard to feel safe here. But I notice that when I am with people I love, it all transforms. The dark shadows become beasts to tackle with our laughter. The scary people become friendly strangers. The subway becomes a secret cave. The secret spring; an unveiling of the aching, painful world to show the more tender parts that just wait for us to arrive.


The winter hangs on here in rivulets of ice. I feel like a thin shadow of myself.


I grasp at the important orbs of joy and remember them. There will be more; veils to lift, secret springs to discover.


Wells of joy cascading out of the dark places in this world.


This too shall pass.





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