Emerging

Hibernation is a wonderful thing, even if it occurs in March and April. No big projects, no big demands on myself. Just long naps, good snacks, cozy pillows and big books to read.

So why, I wondered, after the big nap of the afternoon, was I fidgeting? I was between books. The couch didn’t appeal. Nothing was on TV. The cats had deserted me for the porch and its tempting, great views and fresh air. I didn’t even want to turn on the computer (and had you seen me glued to the computer and a variety of delightful websites and blogs over the past month, you’d understand why this feeling was unusual).

Then it hit me: I was bored.
Yes, Miss I-Don’t-Want-To-Do-A-Single-Thing-For-Two-Months.
Bored.

So I did it. I put on my shoes and my sweater and I stepped outside into the greening world, stretched, turned my face to the late afternoon sun. Emerged from the cave.

This winter was long, busy, brutally cold. Did I mention long? It was long. I, in the good company of millions of other hopefuls, was tricked too many times over the past weeks into thinking that it was spring only to wake up to more cold and wind and snow and cold.

So, tentatively, I crept into my garden. Tulips are leafing. Lady’s Mantle is unfurling.

Bleeding Hearts are reaching through the winter garden debris.

(Standing there I realized that the day had arrived when, in September, I knew I’d curse myself for saying “Blaah! I can’t handle it! I’ll just have to clean off the garden in the spring.” Yes, indeed. I will.)

Cheered by those signs of hope, I took to the sidewalk. The first walk of the spring. I met up with neighbors I hadn’t seen since sometime in October, when we all hung up our walking shoes. “Is it spring?” I asked each one. “Is it really spring?”

“Yes,” they each replied. “It’s ok, Amy. It’s really spring.”

Yes, Mr. RedBird. What cheer.