I took a few days off from writing to breathe in the fresh warm air of spring. We finally hit a temp that genuinely felt good, not just good enough. A truly warm breeze, not just a passive aggressive current with an icy undertone.
The magnolia we planted for our anniversary got its first blossoms. The seedlings Alan nurtured sprouted into tiny dots of green. We picked the first spring stalks of asparagus.
I caught hints of familiar birds now returning. The pink and white flash of the grosbeak. The lyrical chatter of the barn swallows. The beautiful elaborate melody of some sort of songbird I can’t yet identify.
Alan and I took a walk down the road. Watched an osprey dive-bomb our neighbor’s pond. If all this bird talk is boring you, try watching an osprey dive-bomb anything. It has a wingspan of my husband, and hits the water like a cannonball. If you are lucky enough to see it, you can’t help but realize that nature is freakin’ amazing.
I took some time to create, too – actual making of actual things. It’s been a while. I’ve had some paid work, but it’s different. The emotional investment isn’t the same. It’s less “I hope they like it” and more “Oh God I Suck At Everything”.
For one reason or another, or maybe a lot of little reasons, things finally clicked. A series I’ve been struggling with for over a year finally snapped into place. A light bulb went off. I realized how rigid I’ve been. I needed to let go. I needed to just… play. Leave it up to a pandemic to make me realize I need to loosen my grip.
So, all this to say… there are glimmers of hope in the air, and in the trees, and in the studio. Take a moment to breathe them in. And let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, it will all be okay.