A Season That Speeds Up (a poem)

Spring shows up like a promise.
More light.
More warmth.
More reasons to get out of the house.

And somehow… more to carry.

The calendar fills before I notice.
Plans stack on plans.
Good things, most of them.
Still, it starts to feel like too much.

There’s a voice in the background—
quiet, but steady—
telling me I should be doing more.
Keeping up.
Showing up.
Being more of everything.

And I try.
Until my days feel packed in a way that doesn’t feel full.
Just tight.
Just loud.

It’s strange how overwhelm can come from things you wanted.
How even joy can take up space.

So I pause.
Or at least, I try to.

I ask myself how I’m really doing.
Not the quick answer.
The honest one.

Some days feel light.
Some don’t.
Most are somewhere in the middle.

I’m learning that slowing down doesn’t mean I’m behind.
That space is not something I have to earn or be given.
That I’m allowed to step out of the rush, even for a moment.

Spring can keep moving.
I don’t have to match its pace.

I can take it in quietly.
One breath at a time.

And let that be enough.