The Spring Swing

Warmth spills through the east-facing window, and I let the light find me

Spring, finally

I follow my feet outside

My fingers, freed from their gloves, reunite with the dewy air

I turn to the Sun, allowing my cheeks to luxuriate in Her kiss

The Earth and I exhale together

An amethyst glow contrasts the muted winter landscape

I bend down toward the little gems

Crocuses

Old friends waiting to welcome me into the next season

I trust their purple path deeper into the woods

I find silvery, furry buds on bare branches begging to emerge

Pussy Willow

Another harbinger of spring that I just know will open slowly over the next few weeks

I putter,

Meander,

Jaunt

I return home peacefully and reach for a book with a soft spine.

The next day, I wake up with a bitter edge.

An icy freeze covers the land.

The delicate Crocus cling limply to the glass surface.

Just as they began to open, the harsh cold bites their blooms.

I watch them fold back into themselves.

My body remembers.

I know what it is to open too early.

I go back inside.

I pick a fight with Drew.

I spend the day feeling sorry for myself.

The spring swing.