Beautiful "early" Spring day.
“It’s spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you’ve got it, you want–oh, you don’t quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so.”~ Mark Twain
It’s hard not to have spring fever when outside looks like this photo. Makes me want to dig in the dirt but it’s really too early for that. These warm, sunny days have nudged all the early plants and trees into a false sense of security. Bradford pears are in full bloom. Daffodils aren’t just peeking up, they’re nodding their beautiful golden heads. The red bud trees are a glorious fuchsia. The grass is greening. The leaves on many of the trees are inquiring about the possibility of a full showing. Ah-h-h. Spring. I love it.
Fall used to be my favorite season. I think it still is. But this time of year it’s easy to believe that spring is the one. That’s been especially true for me the past few years. It seems to be connected to the beginning of the end of my marriage. Isn’t everything? It’s symbolic in some way. When I was young, I don’t know that I really appreciated it. I didn’t realize that it was springtime and that I should glory in its beauty, both symbolically and literally. That’s human nature, I guess. Now that I’m older and I have no husband, no companion to share my mature (Yuck! I hate that word!) thoughts with, fall doesn’t have quite the appeal it once had.
I know myself well enough, though, to know that when fall next appears after a long, hot Charlotte summer, I will be delighted to make its acquaintance again. And so it is with age. I’m happy not to have the problems that youth brings with it. And being alone has helped me to become happy with where I am. I seldom “sweat the small stuff” nowadays. I save my passion for things that matter–family, art, thinking about the spiritual side of me, etc. I don’t get upset about insignificant matters. I guess I would say that I have acquired a small dose of wisdom. There was a time when I thought I never would. And life goes on.
Back On My Own 