Springtime Happens



photo credit

Today it's dark and overcast outside. And since we see blue sky about three hundred days a year, the gray feels like a welcome change. When I first opened my eyes I could hear the trees outside my window dripping water down onto the deck below. I got out of bed and wandered over to the window, pushing back the curtains. While I was curled up in bed for nine days it appears that green has returned to our straw colored landscape. The view reminded me of some lyrics from Joni Mitchell's song Little Green:

Just a little green

Like the color when the spring is born

There'll be crocuses to bring to school tomorrow

While I was serving out my viral flu sentence in bed I had a lot of time to think about what I want to write about over the next few weeks. I am nothing if not a writer of lists and planner of my next ten steps. But today I feel like leaving the list on my nightstand. It's just not that sort of day.

Jeremy made cookies at the crack of dawn this morning to take to a co-worker's funeral, and by seven-thirty our house was filled with the scent of melted chocolate. Not a bad start to the day. The girls are playing "ballet class" downstairs, and right now there is nothing that I have to do. And so here I am, staring out the window. It's the first time this year I've just sat still and watched springtime happen. The first time I've had hot cocoa in ten days, or sat at my computer without feeling like I want to go lie down again. This post-sick weariness has brought with it a kind of contentment, like there is nothing that might induce me to get dressed today and I'm glad.

You know, most of the time we are responsible for creating our own sense of quiet, but every once in a while it just happens, arriving on its own accord.