Only in the last three days, it seems, has Spring decided to stay. On Saturday, I toured the west end of the City, visiting my "beaver deceiver demonstration sites" for work. Each time that I stepped out of the car, a different season greeted me. Broken clouds, like fractured ice, skidded across the sky before a cold, damp wind. Sometimes the sun shone brightly between them. Sometimes they trailed drizzle or ice pellets. Sometimes they swirled past as squalls of fat snowflakes like dust devils. The weather behaved like a fickle two-year old.
And then, on Sunday, the sky cleared and shone blue. I worked outside in the afternoon, cleaning my bicycle and switching over from winter to summer tires. Yesterday, I sat at the picnic table behind the house, playing guitar past sundown. Today, I walked to work without a jacket. The sun felt warm.
I feel like a groundhog emerging fitfully from his winter den: blinded by the sudden light, dopey and a little peevish. My spirit aches likes the lingering echo of the pain in my left knee, which I sprained last month. Give me a few more days to feel life return to my blood and limbs. I need more time to soak up the sun, to breath sweet air, and to forage on my patch of grass.
One day at a time. It'll all be good.
