Today is cold and sunny, there are just small piles of snow dashed here and there upon the land. Reminding us of the long months that have just passed. And slowly they did past, there was nothing fast about this winter. I often wonder if seasons have feelings. Do they wonder about how long they have to perform before they jutt off into the atmosphere to someother land to perform their season ritual all over again. Will they be as brutal as they were to the land and the souls they just left? Or will the sun decide it spent its summer in overtime and will not by any stretch shine daily at 80 just so people can strip naked and swim in the soft light of the moon. Will they or can they negotiate there length. Is it possible that seasons just decide to skip areas and move onto vacation. Ah, the weather how it controls us keeps us flummoxed as to the power it holds on our moods.
Lately, everything seems to have feelings to me. I get scared wondering if there is some madness encroaching upon me. To wonder and think about such things, is that madness or just an enlargement of imagination. I sure hope its the latter. But today is a day that is set aside for rememberence.
My sister called, "I told dad if he didn't get out of bed that I would drive down and kill him!" Than he could come back and tell me if there really is sex after death." Lately, my father has taken to death. Its appealing to him. He has told us all he is ready to shuffle off to Buffalo as if that might be what happens when you die. He has told the same thing over and over again and again as most alzhiemer patients do when speaking. His legs are large and filled with blood that won't move back and forth, hisfeet in apostle like teva's barely wrap around his once smooth and lean legs. To see him you would not guess that he holds two world records in Track or that he might even be in the Hall of Fame for those yet unbroken records. But he is and was a world record holder. His legacy. But now he sits and bemoans the Spring, hating that his bride is gone and that all the world is asunder.
My mother died three years ago today. I was in riding in spin class today, looking at the clock and thinking of her leaving the earth. Leaving in spring and leaving us to wonder how and why. So sudden and quick, nothing like the seasons. I wonder if she to has jutted off to some far off land. Tuscany is a place she always wanted to see. Could I call someone there and have an APB put out on her there in the Tusan Hills. Wanted: White Hair Middle aged ivory skinned Irish woman. Reading most likely a book of Poetry by Yeats. Would I get the desired reply this child of hers so wishes. That magical thinking may someday come true.
I work alone, and in my day I dream of things such as seasons that have feelings or the thought of my dogs having a full life outside of ours. What do they do when I am away, do they make calls and talk to the pack they hang with at the local trail. Do they stab me behind my back, about how I keep changing up their food afraid of chicken by products or to much corn stock in their meals. I will never know but to have thoughts like these keeps the dark ones that hurt me at bay.
The season of Spring is breaking through to me, and just like the harden soil turning soft for the welcoming of seedlings I to am breaking that hard ground underneath and above my heart. Its been a long time since I had feelings that allowed me to be messy like the dark soil. The messiness with dark and cold soil with stained decomped grass bits sticking out. Spring, April to be certain never has been a favorite month.
Back to my sister, who is laughing while I listen to her grief mask as laughter. She is thinking for sure that my father will out live us all. "He is to good to go" she says "and to think he had a sister who was so mean she died of a broken arm." Listening to her, I feel the bellies maturations of mixing feeling that will come up when I am home working today trying to assimilate and dream of objects or seasons or animals having feelings. Today, I won't be able to get away from the missing and wondering that the sun and this day has forever planted in my soul.
So, here is to April and its cold embrace. To the lost of love and opening of the heart chest like a treasure waiting for that summer season to warm it up. Here is to summer leaving the sourthern hemisphere and sphereing and spirialing its way into the heart of us all in the north looking out upon our windows pointing to it as its lovely sunrays comes across the bay. Here is Spring praying it will make a mad dash away.