the female cardinals are almost invisible out there.
there is one swaying on the baby redbud tree that's growing from the inside of the creek,
the one we should cut down but don't.
its leaves are shaped like hearts.
it's my second favorite day of the year, when we move time forward and there is daylight waiting for me when there shouldn't be. i wake earlier and stay up later, all backwards and full of energy. were it not for the cat asleep on the unmade bed, i would be caught up with all the laundry, but she is too content to disturb. it can wait.
the story of today is small. the story of today is that it puts an end to last week, when everything happened at once. ice and phone calls and cold and hard news and no money, anger and fear and exhaustion and heartburn. by thursday afternoon i was done, but the week wasn't. today it is.
despite the now melted ice, there are daffodils across the street suddenly in bloom, yellow to match the forsythia that proved tougher than the weather. the blossoms on the paperwhites are gone, their stalks bowing to the ground in prayer and exhaustion; so often the two are partners. the birds have skittered off to somewhere and are silent - the sky is white, but i imagine i see a hint of blue trying to break free. lauren bacall is dancing across the television screen, her waist impossibly small.
katie and i have plans afoot to change a painting. we will start small with the biggest change. a black spot to a blue heart, softening to life. it is a painting i did for her years ago, and we have often discussed that spot, thinking it should go. i have myself often thought i should just paint over the whole thing. today it becomes a work in progress. i expect to see changes throughout the year - there is a story behind it all, but it is a secret and will have to wait to be told.
but first, the laundry. the cat is awake and up.