harbinger

I heard the chirping out my window this morning, a robin, I'm sure, as happy to be closer to spring as I am. I love spring. I want to plant more stuff, get my hands in the dirt and dig in. I am never as happy as early spring and the promise of light. I am an Oregonian, and while I can endure the long gray months without complaint, and the rain with acceptance of what it takes to be green, I am always as relieved at the first sign of spring as though it might never come again, as if the seasons might just change their order and start again at fall, skip the warming for this year.

I wasn't always like this: jubilant, hopeful, peering around each corner with gleeful anticipation. Nope. Used to be the sound of birds intruded into my long day into night into another day.... That sound, that sweet one finger melody, plucking away at the robin's vocal chords, would bring daylight crashing in, reminding me of a life I had lost sight of, of unmet responsibility, a child that had to be off to school, a job I had little ability to perform; a house that needed tending, dishes still in the sink, unused broom in the corner, dust rabbits -- not bunnies -- big fucking rabbits, lurking beneath things that hadn't been moved in years.

It was a long run.

I love birds.