The sun continues its deception. This little dance of brightness and blue skies, the clouds drawn back, and the birds sing and taunt us. A few blossoms are sprouting in anticipation, but cower back in the face of Frost (that brute). And I keep waiting for the show to start. At the center of the ring Winter fights on, with a jab and a right hook, knocking Spring back on its heels, pushed back to the corner. Waiting and waiting in agitation for something I can’t quite figure out yet – maybe renewal or mercy or grace or the chance to shed some of the burdens and weight of these heavy clothes. But the wind is knocked out of me every morning in frosted breath. The rebirth of every year seems further away, losing the battle – and I too, feel lost.
And it boils over, into each of us. The need to shed our skins. Redemption. Rejuvenation. Mercy. Warmth. Nakedness.To watch the sun longer. Rise earlier, set later.
The kids instinctively stay up longer – driving us and each other mad with energy (and disobedience). Wake more energized. Jump and bound and shed their clothes. Every moment they have a free they run around the house naked. Little pixies and fairy dust and mischief.
And we\’re mad with anxiety and loss of patience. Exhausted. I feel like I’m about to break or hibernate. I wish I could be carefree and naked. But I’m waiting …