|1967, southern Ohio|
Throughout my adult years, Spring has meant my emotional resurrection. The winter is no time to think about growth, or building, or easy living. The winter is the time to hunker down, keep track of your gloves, and keep looking down at your boots. Can you see them? That's good - you're still moving.
I'm not sure what to do with the profane cycle of my rebirth this year. There was no hunkering down, and no fallow field of winter to reseed. What that means is I have been happy all winter. Not every second, because that's just sick and wrong. But, a lot.
I woke up at dawn, and banged around outside while watching the sunrise. If there's a more spectacular display of desert anywhere, I want to see it. I sat still and heard the desert yawn and stretch. I wandered around, got cactus spines in my leg and screamed three times because I thought it was a snake. GOOD MORNING! Annie is disgruntled. Sue hasn't come out of the Guppy yet, and may actually be too terrified to emerge.
When I manage to sit still and be exactly where I am, that is when I feel reverence. Not worshipfulness, but awe. Annie is rolling her eyes. "Feelings. Either you feel like having breakfast, or you don't."
Every time we land somewhere new I say "This is my favorite place!" And, I mean it. This time, I REALLY mean it.