Day and night are in balance, neither dominant, neither defeated. For now, the scales settle evenly. Spring is testing the ground. Hesitating. Listening.
Winter was a time for letting things lie undisturbed beneath frost and silence. But spring won’t allow everything to remain buried.
The equinox isn’t just a celebration of light’s soon-to-be victory. It’s also a negotiation. As the ground warms, what was pressed down into soil begins to move. Roots stir. Worms surface, having woken to the Worm Moon’s call earlier in the month. Old layers loosen.
This is where buried truths live.
Quiet murmurings.
Under the vernal equinox, these truths don’t dramatically erupt. They simply seep.
They show themselves in small disturbances. A memory that resurfaces without warning, perhaps. A question you’ve avoided that suddenly refuses to stay unanswered. Like the first green shoots breaking through soil, they’re fragile, but persistent.
Spring has a reputation for optimism, but this can be misleading because growth isn’t gentle. It displaces. It causes aches. It cracks what once seemed solid.
The equinox is a reminder that balance isn’t comfort. It won’t last. Never does. It’s tension held just long enough for change to begin.
What was buried in winter now asks to be acknowledged, not to be exposed to full light, but to no longer be denied.
During the vernal equinox, pay attention to what’s shifting beneath the surface.
What feels unsettled? What refuses to stay dormant?
The equinox doesn’t demand answers. Recognition is enough.
Then spring will take care of the rest.
R. H. DIXON 