Muses

Spring has sprung. Why am I the last to know?

Nose flat to the windowpane.

The cavity doctors and biology posters say resides in my chest feels a solid mass.

Looking out at the gray and wet, no discernible point exists between barren ground, skeletal trees and sky.

*    *    *

Holy Smokinski’s ya’ll.

That moment never happened. Every winter mid-January, I have a huge pity party for my sun-loving, warmth-seeking self staring out into the cold.

It’s the first day of spring and I never mourned summer’s passing.

Sure, I was scared of the months of gloom ahead. Moments my eggshell frame winced against the wind and cold dashing out to my car.

And lest I forget, there were six hours of 20 degree chill that decimated a perfectly wonderful patch of my broccoli. << sob >>

But today I looked outside and guess what….

 

A light wind lifted the blossom-filled dogwood branches to and fro.

Color is everywhere. The earth rejoices.

Why was I the last to join the party?

Maybe the busyness that stole winter harnessed my senses.

Well folks, I’m taking back the reins.

Time to bask in the joy of things returning to flower.

Soft as a baby’s exhale and loud as a clap of thunder.

Spring has come.

Are there sign this first day — in your hood?

 

           

           

Subscribe Blog Posts to Your Email.

Archives