That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty.
Every time the seasons shift, I find myself spontaneously pulling out my iPhone to capture the changes. Flowers blossoming, fruit ripening, leaves dying and falling away. Nothing in this existence stagnates, not for long.
Not every year, but in some years, I become uncomfortable with the end of winter, depressed by the grayness that hangs so low to the earth, like an infinite ceiling of clouds. I take Vitamin D supplements, which (I hope) keeps my body balanced, but what about my soul?
This year, I am especially impatient for spring, lusting after sunshine, craving the heat like a palm tree. And I’m not sure whether our recent trip to the California desert made this palm-tree-syndrome better or worse.
We did get a spot of sunshine yesterday in the Pacific Northwest, on the first day of spring, along with blustering winds and showers. I bundled us up in hats and scarves and pointed my chin towards the sun while Giovanna gathered rocks and leaves and a tiny bloom or two.
If I could swing it, I’d pack my bags and stay south until May day. Someday, I will. (A girl has to dream.) Until then, I’m hanging onto something they taught me back in elementary school.
March comes in like a lion, and goes out like a lamb.