Cracking the Dust

An ode to changing seasons and new beginings

text: brittany austin photography: heather zweig model: justin zweig

It’s the first time that winter is almost not — you wake and the old snow recedes for bits of tawny grass, and rascal birds have returned to announce the end — the beginning, really — of something.

It’s the restoration of warm and space. You shed knit things, like socks with holes in the heels, and oh, the soothing shrieks of people, blessed friends, their faces turned up to the wide blue.

It’s the cardinal sunglow that rips between blinds and curtains and cold, cracking the dust of comfort that has gathered in all the corners, on each rib bone ‘round your quiet, caged muscle.

It’s that life is just now new, and more than the weather is unsure. The wild earth churns and you determine to charge on — Spring overhead, under foot, in your lungs, in your moving heart.