With Spring comes cleaning. I hear it in the voices of the
wind. I hear it in the leaves. I hear it in the buds still too shy to show
themselves.
The village is beginning. They open their windows and
cleanse themselves. They purify their homes and clothes. They purify their
pantries. A day is coming and they ready for it.
“I never knew it could be so clean,” they say. But what they mean is, “I never knew it could be so dirty.”
They never knew it could be so dirty. They had always
imagined things were cleaner, brighter, in better repair. They never bothered
to clean because it wasn't that dirty. But they didn't know dirt when they saw it.
How can they know cleanliness if all they have seen is dirt? How can they look around and say, “This is clean and that is
not.” How can they know?
I suppose they must look to the stars. I suppose they must
look up at the night sky and marvel at the light. I suppose they must look and
see the single points of light scattered across a background of darkness. And
then I suppose they must go back into their houses and look around. They will see. That crack is the only clean thing in the wall. That nail is
the only clean thing in the roof. That piece of straw is the only clean thing
in the bedroom.
They will see the house is not as clean as they thought.
They will see that dirt reigns as darkness reigns in the sky. But the darkness
cannot put out the light.
One day, the villagers will look up and see that darkness has
gone. They will see that all dirt has been swept away and only cleanliness
remains. Only cleanliness. The stars have mastered the heavens and the darkness
has faded.
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