I have an idea of what I want to write about in my Milton paper, which is good since I've been at Lisa's working on it since noon. The air is warmer today, the forecast is for thunderstorms. We're truly moving into Spring then, we'll be able to feel it before it hits. The heavy humidity of the air, the darkly ominous skies, and then the clouds opening up and water falling in sheets. This year I'll run in it.
Buds are starting to sprout on the tree branches, no more than nubs of renewal and life poking hesitantly through skin scales of bark. Even when the winter hasn't been harsh, the movement of the earth cants strongly toward life and warmth. We're on the brink, now. Winter pulls back slowly, like a bank of fog revealing the golden foothills and green headlands.
I'm healing too into awareness and certainty of myself and my actions. I'm finding myself again in the quiet conversations of dusk. When I walk along Sheridan road and the path stretches out straight and tree-lined before me, I know myself intimately; I strive to look on the world with fresh eyes. The end of this quarter is so near - everything I've wanted to put together and make happen is culminating.
Spring, these things, myself - they're starting to move now together, in one motion, a blossoming, an awakening, and in the midst, new aspirations, new loves, new creation and a refreshed understanding.