NVN Saturday: THE IN-BETWEEN
by Kathy Conway
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For a month, we’ve noticed tender green sprouts— too early not to freeze or be trampled, often poking out of dried-brown leaves of last fall. Do you hear their crinkle in the breeze? On our walks, we’ve created a game—are they crocus, jonquils, tips of hosta? We’ve savored forsythia and lilac buds, the red tint of oaks, the pale green of maples. I have always loved early Spring’s pops of color, signs of growth and new life to come; births and passings of loved ones, of this year’s departed and a yet-to-be-born grand-nephew. This spring, we also have the brown water of floods and mudslides, the yellow and red flames of fire, leaving grey-black ash and debris in war zones—Ukraine, Gaza, Haiti. And the orange man—I’ll not use his name—threatening a bloodbath.
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Kathy Conway lives and writes in New England and is increasingly frustrated with the state of the world.