Spring looks like: a pile of shoes by my door, a pair of brown-bottomed socks on the living room floor, seeds in sunny windows, slow budding trees, a full-bloom white magnolia up the street.
Spring sounds like: a silent house, a ball bouncing, an American Robin pouncing, a clash of light sabers in the yard three houses down.
Spring means: Open windows. Fresh air. Grass so green it hurts the eyes. Daffodils. Geese on every lake. Catching up with the neighbors. Crossing your fingers that the delicate apple blossoms won’t freeze in the night.
In spring we throw the windows wide open. Seth had a dream several weeks ago that Rick Santorum was guest speaker at a church meeting. (I know right? Don’t tell Mitt, it’ll hurt his feelings.) Anyway, Santorum got up to speak and said, “Who let in all the birds? Where did all these birds come from?” It was all the birds outside our open window, floating into Seth’s subconcious. Spring brings magical dreams.
A few years ago my sister Kat and future brother-in-law Matt were driving through West Texas, making the long trek from Utah to Austin. (And if you haven’t done that drive, you can’t truly understand the following story. I once drove that stretch in a thunderstorm, while listening to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” and saw something that just might have been a deer about to mutate into a werewolf.) Anyway, after 12 hours of driving just through Texas they were nearly home, when Matt, a very stable person under normal circumstances, just lost it. He started rocking back and forth, then threw back his head and cried, “I want to LIVE!”
That’s how I feel, right before spring arrives. I want to live!
And speaking of dreams, I only have one reaccuring dream. It comes to me every few years, no matter what house I’m living in. In the dream, I open up a bedroom door and discover an entire wing of the house I never knew existed! It happens to be the size of a museum and has tapestries on the wall. It comes with a boat dock. And beachfront property. I love that dream.
That is what spring feels like to me. It’s like opening up a door and discovering a forgotten wing of my house, the wing that includes 30+ trees and a sandbox and a garden and tulips and a compost and flowering lilacs and neighborhood children.
I want to live!
I can. We all finally can.