3/17/15, St. Patrick’s Day, 2:36p – This point of morphing and melding seasons – when crusty rusts exhume to greens, when winter clings to the windy spring of March – is my favorite. Its changeable breath blesses and infuses us with both warmth and coolness – sun and cloud – depending on the minute. My feeling may change on a dime, in a quarter, but for now – it is loveliness exactly.
The rust and green of this vibrant, muddy season was exhibited riotously at every turn today. Their colors overflowed from the deep pines blowing above to the flashing glint of jumping cinnamon fur in the sun. They spread from the dead grass and growing moss to the auburn scabs on patinaed handles. They germinated and covered old tools in the garage, my organ-tuner grandfather’s old license plate, and the bricks on the house, till they finally burned out when the last copper ember dipped below the horizon.
It is time to play outside; it is time to bask or fetch; it is time to blossom.
Grin as big as the smile in my great uncle’s photo as we move into spring, my pets. Even the geese are jubilant, honk-honk-honking from the south all day.
Sweet sleep when you get there, and be well till the re-seeing.
– Coon and Boon
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