(I wrote this a few days ago, when the weather was just beginning to stay consistently warm!)
As the day draws out, long and cool, I can begin to feel those clammy fingers of Summer brush over March’s variable climate. Four o’clock comes and goes, bringing with it the hottest rays of pale yellow sunshine yet to be shone in this new year. Ah yes. Now that is a thought! From here on out it can only get warmer for 2010, until Autumn, impatient for it’s turn on stage, prances in with a wild dance, only staying long enough to tease Summer about it’s relentless stillness.
For now, I am glad to have Spring as my companion. It’s fluttering chills amid the steady approach of Summer’s stifling blanket are delightful! But I cannot completely claim Spring’s fresh joy as my own, for I am made of that raw and reckless material so inexorably tied to the coming of fall. And so now, letting my mind roam over the ever moving and changing surface of time, I remember my “unashamed plug for the best and most glorious month of the year.” Was it really 5 months ago?! Nearly half a year – a measure of time so long, yet when it’s over, so extraordinarily short! I can still see with vividness my mom and sisters reading over that post, checking it for errors as is their custom. The whole jubilant month of October is indeed still speaking, regaling me with stories from it’s days that, at the time, didn’t seem so important, but now are valuable treasures to me.
But, my word! How I seem to have strayed from the path I had intended for my musings to take!
Spring. Spring! All living things are beginning to sing it’s name as an anthem. I am encircled by a veritable party of “new.” Yet it is all familiar, so it lacks the intimidation that such a statement might otherwise suggest. Beyond lace-curtained windows, bold light still arouses the world to outdoor activity as I fork my dinner of BBQ chicken to my mouth. This early in the year, it is of course only possible because of that phenomenon of our culture, Daylight Savings Time. I don’t understand why we must be subject to such a stupid rule and torment our bodies with endless adjustment to changing time, when it is in fact not time that is changing, but us changing the time!
I do, however, bask in the luxury of long afternoons inundated with natural light. Such it was that inspired these tiny, insignificant letters I am writing – strings of descriptive words being formed as my pencil moves across the loose piece of lined paper lying in my lap.
No, your eyes do not deceive you. The paper I am referring to is indeed real and tangible. The wood pencil in my hand is truly pressing against the softening writer’s callous on the edge of my right middle finger. Left to it’s own devices (and consequently my eagle-eyed younger sister), my laptop is neglected for the more poetic and peaceful encouragement of raw materials.