Today I sloughed the layers of winter’s death-shroud clothing, worn like a prison uniform, for spring’s sheer yet strong cloth of warmth and sun. No matter that as I drive from the city the trees remain nearly bare; I have but to look up, past and between their stubbornly conservative branches, to see the sky — to be able to see the sky at all!— from blue to pale, brushed with white clouds. Sunlight jewels off passing cars. The unfamiliar warmth feels so intimate on my exposed skin that it’s almost obscene. I’m afraid if I close my eyes too long all of this will disappear and I’ll be back in the monotonous nightmare of the 100 year winter, surrounded by ugly days of useless rain and sticking mud; day after day after hopeless day.
Today my heart is spread wide and open through my chest, and this day feels like a healing salve spread over its winter wounds. The terror of losing this blessed gift of sun and heat and light starts to make my head ache. But I’m pushing back against that dull pounding. No matter, I won’t let it matter. The sun is with me, my shadow too. I have this moment now, with the wind flying across the open truck window and the humming sound of traffic, the precious everydayness of people going somewhere, in this right-now time of winter gone. I am as a hostage released, and as I wrap spring’s fabric around me, I can smell every happy moment I’ve ever had in my entire life.