Spring!

 

Spring officially arrived yesterday, and the neighborhood flora is in full agreement.

This is one of my favorite weeks of the year to go out walking every day. It was rainy earlier this week; the only sign of the sun a few lighter gray spots in the cloud-covered sky. The gray trees against the gray sky looked as if they were still hunkered down for the count. Then, right on cue, the sun came out, and it was clear to see that the plants have made good use of the rain. (March showers bring April flowers?  No, that's not quite right...) 

As I walk, I watch to see what's changed overnight. If you squint, you can see where a tree, yesterday wearing only its winter brown-gray bark, has begun to sprout a halo of the most delicate spring green.

The bush in the attached picture, one of my spring favorites, still looked to be winter-asleep as I approached yesterday. But then, as I walked by, I caught a whiff of intense fragrance; it smelled as though someone had unstoppered a bottle of high-end perfume. I stopped to look more closely, and sure enough, among the remnants of last year's leaves, a few delicate flowers have opened.

The sky is blue, the birds are singing. The robins who decided to hang around all winter have let their feathers relax - no longer do they need to stay still and puffed up to preserve warmth and energy. 

The grass is starting to grow, it's almost time to get out and play in the dirt. (I stop to send some mental sympathy hugs to my friends to the north. They still have a few weeks of winter to get through, and memory tells me it can feel like winter is digging in its heels as it gets dragged out the door, wanting to hang around as long as possible.)

I knew, during those dark days in February, that this would happen. I've seen a few turns of the planet around the sun, and spring has come without fail. Despite the voice of experience in my head, there's always a part of me that doesn't believe it'll happen again. I guess its my spirit's way of hedging its bets; not counting the chickens until they hatch - that sort of thing.

This year, spring brings poignancy - I welcome its arrival with an almost too-intense awareness of life's fragility. Because of the virus, too many people are not here to welcome it this year. *big sigh*

But COVID-19 is on the run, and I pray it stays that way. I have gotten the first of my shots, as have most of my friends. The vaccine logjam is loosening, and soon, all who want to take what protection science can offer against the virus will be able to do so. I'm not ready to go anywhere crowded just yet, but soon will be free to gather with friends for coffee or dinner. New life, and the hope it brings along in its wake, is stirring in my soul, mirroring the world out my window.

Soon.

Happy Birthday????

I have one of those odometer birthdays coming up soon, and I've been puzzled by my feelings around it. For years, I've thoroughly enjoyed marking another year completed. It's solid proof I'm still alive and greeting the morning. 

This one has been different. I've been avoiding thinking about it; haven't wanted to celebrate in any way, shape, or form. It wasn't until I was talking to Kate this morning that I figured out why. It's because I'm being greedy.

There was a point in my life when I'd have been happy enough to reach my last days. I'd seen enough, done enough. I was weary and didn't look forward to trudging through the gray sameness of the days to come.

All that has changed. I've rediscovered many hidden pockets of good things and I want to experience them all. I want to see all of the beauty and to learn all of the things. I want to listen to the music and to dance and to write and to make art and to travel and to stop and to just be.

I keenly feel the fact that my days are numbered, and I think the number is too small. I mean, sixty doesn't necessarily mean I've reached my last days, but it's a definite indication I'm past the noon of my life and am well on my way to approaching sunset.

I want desperately to hold onto the days, all the moments I have left. I want to hold the good ones close in my arms and keep them forever. Unfortunately, the tighter I hold, the more pieces that fall beyond my reach. When I try to shift to recapture them, I lose grip of the entire unwieldy load, and the entire thing crashes to the floor and makes a huge mess. Greed does that. 

When I am afraid of losing my grip, I sometimes focus so closely on the holding on part that I lose my chance to enjoy the moment I'm trying to capture. That's truly sad.

The realization that fear (disguised as greed) is at the root of my ambivalence helps a lot. Once I know it is fear shaping my reaction to the day, I know to call its bluff. Libby and I decided fear is the greatest obstacle between us and our ability to enjoy the days we have, and I think we were onto something.

So, I'm stopping to take a deep breath. In. Out. 

Working together, my lungs and heart {a miracle happens here} infuse the cells of my blood with the fresh essence of life and send it on down the road to my fingertips and toes, where {another miracle happens here} life is traded for depleted waste which is brought back to center, where it's traded out and the cycle begins anew. And the whole thing usually happens without any conscious help from me. Amazing, eh?

Everyday miracles. But holding on to the breath doesn't help; it just prevents the miracles from happening. They only happen when I let go.

And so I will (again) try to apply this lesson to my moments. Let go of fear; it doesn't help anything. Don't try to number the moments, don't crush their beauty by futilely trying to hold them tight. Rather, enjoy them as they arise, one after another after another after another. 

And when the day comes when the moments stop, well, that's when, in the heart of me that believes beyond reason, I hope I'll get to visit the stars. 

Happy Birthday, to me!

Turnabout

And, poof! It's spring! ish. this week anyways. Let's not get too excited about the change in the weather just yet. I've spent enough time in this part of the country to know winter could still have a trick or two up its sleeve. 

But. These past few days. Somehow, it feels like a greater gift as the temps nudge sixty when those temps come on the heels of a cold snap like the one we just went through. An extra-special reward for surviving the frigid weather. Look closely at the attached picture. That's green in the center there. For real!

For me, the tipping point of winter always comes right around Valentine's Day, regardless of the weather. In these parts, it is then that the sun begins to move to the north in earnest, and there are enough hours of daylight to brighten the sky both before seven in the morning and after five in the evening.

These past few days have seen my blood begin to move more lightly through my veins. My energy level has gone up a notch, it's easier to drag me out of bed in the morning. I look around the house and instead of being overwhelmed by the projects that need to be done, I'm ready to dig in and start thinking about tackling them. (Good thing. I have a long list of to-dos I deferred at my house in the interests of getting the kids into the castle.)

And, speaking of light, there is a light that just might be something other than a train at the end of the hunker-down-because-of-the-virus tunnel. The vaccine pipeline is starting to flow more easily. I just saw something that said everyone who's willing to get a shot should be able to get it by mid-summer.

That said, I am concerned that some of the people running state governments are erasing restrictions too quickly. The numbers are down, but they're not down to zero and I'm pretty sure pretending all is back to normal will send them back up, will cause more needless deaths. But maybe by now, enough people have lost people they love to this thing that they'll wear masks and stay away anyways? Maybe...

Regardless of what 'they' do, I've hunkered down this long, I can hunker down a bit longer. (Especially since I'll be able to see some people again as the weather turns nicer and we can meet outside.) Now is not the time to jump the gun and declare victory. I don't want to be the last person in the COVID-19 pandemic to die from the virus. 

The weather is turning. The tide on the battle with the virus is turning. 

I'm beginning to allow myself to nurture glimmers of hope. This, too, shall pass.