June
It's the first of June already and I spent the entire month of May looking back over my shoulder at winter. This year, winter left me feeling cold and gray well into April and I wasn't sure it was finally over until the early lilacs bloomed. Now the peonies and late lilacs are spilling their fragrance into the air, seeping into the house; every breeze brings their aromas inside.
I wasted May fleeing winter and not enjoying it for fear of more cold weather, and now it's over and I feel I lost a month. But it's June and the pool opens soon, and there will be trips to the ice cream stand, and running through the sprinkler, and long afternoons spent under shady trees on a blanket.
Winters can seem endless here on the North Coast and the older I get, the longer and harder they become. But it's June and there will be homemade popsicles, and dinners on the patio, and whiling away the time in the backyard.
This winter I felt bereft of something I couldn't name, felt my age, watched the grey clouds cover the sky, my house, my soul. But it's June and there will be backyard bonfires, and catching fireflies, chasing each other with glow-sticks and late night star gazing.
I wasted the winter, letting it make my vision cloudy, letting it pull me under its icy grip. But now it's June, and the sounds of the lawn mower and my children, playing and shrieking and fighting come to me from somewhere outside; the smells of flowers and fresh cut grass and mulch mingle and wind their way around the house.
Enough about winter! It's June and the rototiller has turned the soil and I can hear the plants growing and stretching toward the sun. The yard is alive with birds and bees and an occasional butterfly. The 2 year old is peddling her tricycle back and forth, barn swallows swoop and chirp in the cool of the evening, and the beagle has cornered another squeaking mole.
And it's June.
I wasted May fleeing winter and not enjoying it for fear of more cold weather, and now it's over and I feel I lost a month. But it's June and the pool opens soon, and there will be trips to the ice cream stand, and running through the sprinkler, and long afternoons spent under shady trees on a blanket.
Winters can seem endless here on the North Coast and the older I get, the longer and harder they become. But it's June and there will be homemade popsicles, and dinners on the patio, and whiling away the time in the backyard.
This winter I felt bereft of something I couldn't name, felt my age, watched the grey clouds cover the sky, my house, my soul. But it's June and there will be backyard bonfires, and catching fireflies, chasing each other with glow-sticks and late night star gazing.
I wasted the winter, letting it make my vision cloudy, letting it pull me under its icy grip. But now it's June, and the sounds of the lawn mower and my children, playing and shrieking and fighting come to me from somewhere outside; the smells of flowers and fresh cut grass and mulch mingle and wind their way around the house.
Enough about winter! It's June and the rototiller has turned the soil and I can hear the plants growing and stretching toward the sun. The yard is alive with birds and bees and an occasional butterfly. The 2 year old is peddling her tricycle back and forth, barn swallows swoop and chirp in the cool of the evening, and the beagle has cornered another squeaking mole.
And it's June.
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