This is a weird time of year. Here in Berkeley it's a gorgeous day, sunny, though chilly. The magnolias are already blooming. It's not spring yet, not even winter. The looming New Year makes a guy think about transitions, the passage of time, new stuff—the usual. The numeral 2005 sounds new—shiny and pristine, just out of the box, wheareas 2004 sounds (already), old, scratched, a little battered, like my camera cellphone (which I bought in 2004). This blog is one of the transitions for the new year. I've started it This is a weird time of year. Here in Berkeley it's a gorgeous day, sunny, though chilly. The magnolias are already blooming. It's not spring yet, not even winter. The looming New Year makes a guy think about transitions, the passage of time, new stuff—the usual. The numeral 2005 sounds new—shiny and pristine, just out of the box, wheareas 2004 sounds (already), old, scratched, a little battered, like my camera cellphone (which I bought in 2004). This blog is one This is a weird time of year. Here in Berkeley it's a gorgeous day, sunny, though chilly. The magnolias are already blooming. It's not spring yet, not even winter. The looming New Year makes a guy think about transitions, the passage of time, new stuff—the usual. The numeral 2005 sounds new—shiny and pristine, just out of the box, wheareas 2004 sounds (already), old, scratched, a little battered, like my camera This is a weird time of year. Here in Berkeley it's a gorgeous day, sunny, though chilly. The magnolias are already blooming. It's not spring yet, not even winter. The looming New Year makes a guy think about transitions, the passage of time, new stuff—the usual. The numeral 2005 sounds new—shiny and pristine, just out of the box, wheareas 2004

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The Third or Fourth Day of Spring

12:52 PM Friday, March 25, 2005

[What's so good about Good Friday?]

"Today is the third or fourth day of spring and I am sitting at the Place Clichy in full sunshine." So wrote Henry Miller at the Cafe Wepler in his mysterious 1930's Paris book Black Spring. Here in Berkeley, today is the fifth day of spring and I am sitting at Monterey and Hopkins in full sunshine, sipping an Americano. Today is the Jewish Feast of Lots and the Christian Good Friday, a rare synchrony. The theme, of course, is death and resurrection, or as Henry wrote, "a chaos whose order is beyond comprehension."

In an earlier Coffeeblog post, I wrote about the winter solstice and the reindeer god who saves the tribe just when things get darkest. Spring, however, is something else.

"Inside me a terrifying gem which will not wear away, a gem which scratches the windowpanes as I flee through the night." was Henry's take on it. "We are that which is never concluded... There are huge blocks of my life which are gone forever... To imagine a new world is to live it daily, each thought, each glance, each gesture killing and recreating... "

Have you ever seen a baby born? Or had one yourself while fully conscious? A miniature human being emerges from another, and suddenly there is a cry and one becomes two. That is the unstoppable power of spring, echoed in the creative urge of the artist (Otto Rank's Schaffensdrang), and of course hinted at with bunnies, eggs, and chocolate life-forms.

For me, spring always passes too fast. When summer begins, I am always sorry that spring could not have lasted at least another few months. Experiencing spring is like kayaking a mountain snowmelt. Speed, adrenaline, terror, ecstasy, and then the days start getting shorter again.—JDL

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