Rain whispers through the roof. Even though it is late May, it is raining like March. Marbles of exploding rain scatter across the deck. Deep blue twilight makes my eyelids heavy as I trace the reflection of the mountains across the lake. Seurat could pock a canvas no finer. As calming as this all is, birds and bees are bouncing around inside me. The eye of spring has opened with the awakening trillium along the trail. The fuscia salmonberry blossoms have the hummingbird flashing through tendrils of misty sun in the early morning. The wren has been singing her demanding song tirelessly in the depths of the forest for too long, and now with the tanager taking his post in the tops of the doug-firs, it is time for this rain to end.
Visiting the east coast this spring during my birthday was quite a pleasant tease. Not only do I look around getting glimpses of the tardy season, but also now subtle banalities remind me of the pleasant awakening I found there. Tired of hugging my knees to my chest as I stare out the window, the expanse of this continent has become more evident, and again I am tempted to migrate towards this wonderful feeling.
It has been a great winter, and a lazy but heartening spring. Despite the distance, I feel her within me, solid as a mountain reclining across the landscape. Those curves my body has explored, my fingertips now impatiently retrace. With the clearing of the skies I feel freshness only a new day can bring. The reflection across the lake shimmers as clear as the dark pools of her eyes.