it's winterspring and behind these valentine tulips, outside across the street, baby pink buds hang almost awake on a tulip tree. forsythia has opened yellow bright and paperwhites nod lazy hellos at me as i pass them by, boots on the ground. i keep moving through the parade of early spring, past pink camellias and daffodils. they say, as they do every year at this time, to expect a wintry mix of sleet and snow next week, but they said that last week also - i have learned that what comes, comes.
i opened my eyes to a lizard sunday morning. he was a pale spring green against the wood of the chair i keep next to my bed, and he didn't struggle when i picked him up and dropped him into the monkey grass in the back yard. the cat, sleeping soundly in the way that only cats can sleep, never knew. never batted an eye or twitched a tail. saturday was a morning walk through awakening birds, the day warming step by step, and it was an afternoon spent in the sunshine, feet bare, a moment of early spring. blue sky. we needed sweaters before darkness fell, but only then. sunday began warmer, the sky gray, and cooled as it moved through the hours toward evening. by monday night it was cold, and i walked through the wind and the night, my gloves not warm enough.
my calendar last week told me nothing important comes with instructions. i tore off that quote and taped it to the wall, lest i forget. i am lately teaching myself the art of just-doing-it-ness, which turns out to mostly be just start. baby steps. one foot in front of the other and all that jazz. there's no real instruction book for it, and it's how i found myself in cold wind and darkness 2 miles down the road - one foot through the door and go. it seems to be the way to do it. just move and you will take yourself with you.
it's that first uncomfortable moment that stops me. stops us? this summer it will be the heat, it will be the humidity, it will be fears founded and not. but right now? today? i understand that most of my couldn'ts are really wouldn'ts. i am tougher with myself, and kinder. i allow myself stillness within all the movement.
where i live, there is a slight hill across the street from a church, and my only goal is to make it up that hill when i near the end of my walk. a small thing. a small hill, as most hills are. a small goal. the hill is strewn with the fruit from a sweetgum tree - dangerous little devils - and i have to pay attention.