First day of spring. Brilliant sunshine here, blazing marvelously in through the window over my shoulder.
What is there to say about that, or about a dubious rain falling in Japan now in the middle night, about strife here, there and everywhere? What is there to say amid the swirl of « events » reported and also not reported in every life and every corner of the universe and right here?
« Saying » is perhaps not necessary, perhaps it is « beside the point, » as we say in English.
So then what?
I would say at this moment that all I can do is open to what someone called « the potential mystery and misery » of all of life. That’s what spring is, an opening to « new » life.