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Rearing the Spring

Work out your days, you lonely workers of my home town, your busy mornings and
the fallow afternoons, becoming real in the kingdom of what is. And then assume
from all this being the wording and make of it the capital of spring. For in the spring
of words resides the capital of language. We do forget this spring my friends for this
unlikely winter which pervades our thoughts with this unlikely money. Numbers on
paper standing for some things made easy, so they say, reckoning always out of time
or season. For time gives away history to stay alone with years. Years of loneliness,
years of work, where bodies stay behind of dreams made true only on occasion like a
sunny day you do remember through the year just for its perfect light. Our spring
depends on this rare light my friends: Its purity divides the truth from plain deceitful
fiction. It justifies our labor to ourselves and gives our words a meaning. It is the
light, the only one, which makes us take over, and be the authors of our truth, our
destiny, our life, residing on this earth not just to die off in lonely desolation, but in
the hope to live again in what has been The Seasons. Relive the summer with a mild
heat making the dates more precious for the autumn love which comes to make them
true within its mellow knowledge. But then the winter is the judge. It’s God’s earthly
equator. For in the cold abides the author of the poor and cold is the heart of error.
You don’t believe then that this heart might be of yours my friends. Still that may
happen, if you think that you can buy off the words of spring throughout a lonely
winter spent on screen thoughts, screen sounds, screen food, screen love stories
becoming evermore predictable and deceitful. Cause child is the mother of the poor
and children are her brothers, still all mighty in their love and thought and enemies of
boredom, subjects only to nature and to the pure intelligence of truth lighthearted and
simple, belonging to the words they need for springtime to be happy. For springtime is
intelligent by being immensely lucid. An effortless lucidity is that of lonely children.
They love the light with no regrets. The sun with no delay and with the mother of the
poor they know they’ll always play.  They don’t know of eternity for is their day.
And for the busy garderner they have some new ideal: Describe the roses to the rich
and give the poor the real. So let’s proceed to may time, the time when people may
start for the earth a destiny beginning on that day when mother calls the gardener her
husband anyway and all the children understand what is a happy day. It is the day
you perceive the books stay closed forever for happiness is real truth a present to the
present. And then you know you want to be a partner to the rime spontaneous and
civilized and rhythmic in your life. The rhythmic life then can heal all wrong
imagination and teach you against violence, envy and bleak frustration. This time is
real spring, the time you want to stay. So stay please my true wife the gardener will
say. Help me conduct our destiny and give our children say. Teach them to be able to
understand Our Day: harmonious and playful with colors which obey. Obey the
power of spring and working out the reason to stay forever natural, immense and true
in season. so Stay For Me Of My Truthful Autumn. I Need To Turn The Earth
Around. Because All Seasons Are In my Memory And I Still Need Time To Think.

Stella Nikoloudi