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just write {79}

April 2nd, 2013 | Comments Off on just write {79}

April thoughts:

The garden plot where I grow my food is free of it’s snow cover. This makes me deliriously happy. It also makes me far too eager to pick up my shovel, and all I would get for that is the ‘tink tink’ against the frozen ground underneath. I didn’t transfer the two Peony plants last fall. I should probably trim back the Japanese Lilac this Spring. There’s another garden patch that was overcome with weed last year, where my Clematis grow and I need to fix that. I want the fire pit to drain and dry out so I can burn wood that stirs my senses with it’s deep, woodsy smell. I want that flattened grass to come back, the patch that’s been buried under all the snow we’ve pushed off the patio all Winter long.

I want my patio chairs back. I want to crack open that one amazing bottle of white wine that I have on hand, anticipating the very first beautifully warm day that I can sit there, sipping liquid gold elixir in celebration of Spring. Last year, I sat outside on March 17th, in a skirt and alabaster legs, in awe of the warmth around me.

March certainly came in like a lion, and most assuredly didn’t go out like a lamb. We went for a walk on Easter, the last day of March this year, and my earlobes were numb from the wind. My thighs burned and were bright pink when we got home. That’s not lamb-like.

The light changes daily, stays longer, grows warmer. Morning chill still penetrates the windows, but the afternoon sun drowses me, lulling me to think I can shed layers, pull off the socks and absorb its rays. Still not there yet. The cats sit on the steps, eyes half shut to the softly blazing sky, nose high to the wind as the endless parade of Spring dances across their faces. I lift my own nose high in the air and can smell the earth awakening. It stirs in me the need for change. I place my hand on the warmth of the brick underfoot, delight in birdsong, watch carefully for buds on trees, the first green shoots pushing through last Fall’s remnants, the Crocus and Poppy rising from their Winter sleep to wave in the breeze as if saying Hello.

April is sweet and soft and perfectly Springtime. It’s a slow and delicious transition to light and less, to green and storms, thunder and rain. April is soft earth rejoicing in renewal; cold mornings and warm afternoons and long walks in the twilight after dinnertime. It is promise and hope and redemption and the finest reward after a long Winter. There is nothing quite like April.

This is the 79th week of Just Write, over at The Extraordinary Ordinary.

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