Somehow the coming of Spring brings to mind these ancient images, the oldest myths. That everything is new this time of year is yet an old story, an old recurring dream and wakening for
us—old as the hills that bear the new grasses.
I am reminded too of Nietzsche's concept of the two kinds of time, one within the other, one vast and all-encompassing, one closer to the fabric of our daily lives, repeating itself time and time again. The passage of the seasons that make up a year, and the accumulation of all years, into eternity.
That is Spring, then, both new and old. The small turning of a calendar page, the ponderous turning of earth to sun; the long, slow, lovely earth of ours wheeling through countless uncounted millenia—each one Spring-born.
images: Roman and Etruscan frescos
No comments:
Post a Comment