I said goodbye today to the ghost of February. I know there are a few more days to go, four to be exact, it is not leap year but I am jumping over time and ending up in March.
March offers the promise of a prelude to spring. My jonquils have big fat bulbs of yellow just ready to protrude through the green encasing them, and I am sure that somewhere in this neighborhood there is crocus blooming.
My Pussy Willow has little white kittens on several branches, and there is red on some of the tips of branches of other bushes growing in my yard. I am so ready. I do not want to rush my year by, but just give me some warm days a little sweat and I will let the world slow down and pass with an easy pulse. I taste lemonade moments in my freshly painted swing, open book in lap, and heavy sighs by nature, not from exertion, my kind of day.
Later in a warm March when my yard warms from the ground up, I welcome the strangest flying troupe, little white winged creatures by the hundreds flying in erratic circles, you walk through them they do not bite or sting, but they will enter every opening in your head. There is no taste in the mouth only slight grit; no smell in the nose just a un-scratch-able tickle; no pain in the eye just cloudy tears; no stopped up ears, just the silent flutter of soft vibrations.
Bring on the winds of March, blow through the stark limbs of my trees, take the last of the dead leaves, shake their roots and soften the earth for renewed growth. Comb through the tired grasses; untangle their blades from a deep winters sleep. Clean the air of soggy cold mists, blow in shots of sunshine and sweep the ragged clouds from the skies. Do your work wind, but do not over do, stay gentle, bring in spring on an easy rain, then push the long legs of the sun's rays in unhurried walks all over my day.
I go to sleep tonight with no promise of warmth, or sunshine or even of tomorrow, but I know season follows season and I am so ready for the next one, I will enjoy it with all that is in me if allowed, as I unfold just like the jonquils under the pussy willow. I will push through the layer of strain that encases me during cold weather. I will relax from toe to head; and if it is warm enough for their translucent return, I will walk in the midst of white winged creatures and be content!