She said, “The ground is birthing.” I was struck by her choice of words. It seemed an odd descriptor, and yet, as I looked about, I could see that it was true.

The high mountain desert is waking up. Everywhere new life is coming into being and growing at staggering rates. The clematis by the porch, grows several inches every night, as if in a race with itself.

Dormant grasses green. Verbena blossoms purple, in every ditch and wayside. Trees reawaken vigorous. Aspens and crabapples leaf out, blossoming and filling the air with a scent that lures all manner of flying creatures.

Insects varied, and small burrowing animals, crawl from what just days ago were empty holes. The walking black beetles are back and hurried. They understand time. Lizards laze underfoot soaking up the ever warming sun. While snakes venture out with a new hunger. A family of squirrels, who wintered in a burrow under a Cholla cactus, scatter about. The babies rushing to explore every inch of their great new world, while the mama watches for dangers, like hawks and humans. Rabbits pair up and jump in a dance of anticipation and lust.

Everything is fully alive. Everything is terribly awake. Am I? Is it not my Spring, as well? Should I not be as alert to the things around me as any other creature? Can we rebirth on occasion? I think so. After all, I am hardly who I once was. Every season brings changes of one sort or another. So, let me join this frenzy of life while it is here. Let me celebrate this verdant new season, with its warm days and cool nights. For way too soon the summer’s heat will drive us all back to the shadows. But then again, we will have the gentler summer nights and the sharp summer stars. So very many stars. We are tasked to live this life by the nature of our birth. And this season like every season is simply a reminder.