She finds even the slightest patch of light and she plants herself there.
For as long as it stays, she stays.
I watch her as she gravitates to the one warm pool of sunlight on the floor across from me as I write new posts for the coming week.
I realize something inside her simple natural act.
She sought it out.
To say I’ve been anxious for spring is an understatement.
For weeks I waited for the thaw in a bit of an agitated state.
It wasn’t coming fast enough. It wasn’t turning warm enough. The birds weren’t heralding LOUD enough.
Could everyone in feathers just herald a little louder, please???
The arrival of Spring should be this delightful exhale, a shaking off of all that is winter. Rebirth at it’s finest. Uplifting.
And instead, hoping for its arrival was making me impatient and short-fused and agitated and moody.
And Spring here in Ontario is never a soft, sure, definite process anyway. It strolls in one day looking promising, then teases us with dismal flurries scattered around till May… this does not help my state of mind.
Or is it a state of heart?