The first day.

I wait every year for today.
The bus drops me off inconveniently far-ish from my house , so as to make sure I get a good work out clambering up the hill of a street that leads me to my house. But most days I don't mind. Especially today. Starting at the first whiffs of spring, it's a routine for me to squint my eyes and stare up at the street before I climb it to get home. The goal is to see if, on the blurry landscape of the trees, I am able to see mostly green (spring is here) or mostly brown (almost). The leaves on the trees were developed perfectly that today, as I squinted the shades of green (lime, forest, evergreen, sea), melded and I saw the blur of the oaks, redbuds, and pecans, overwhelm and clash with the gray sky. Spring has arrived, in with the gusts of rain and wind, spring has arrived.
I think as a child my mother made me love it. Or maybe she passed it down to me in her blood. But I remember:  first grade sitting on the then-tiled kitchen floor staring up at my mom watering the plants with an ozarka water bottle on the window sill. I remember she froze, put the bottle down and turned to me, a grin, (not seen much in the winter), growing on her face. "Hallelujah!" she beamed, closing her eyes and stretching her arms up at the ceiling.  I stared up ready for her to explain. "It's the first day of spring!".
So, ever since then I wait for today. I wait for the day when I know the storms of winter (as if we had any this year), are gone. Back on the loop, traveling slowly towards a year from now. But most of all I wait for the new air that's easy to breathe. That swims into your lungs and filters your heart and thaws the frost embracing your soul into a river that flows deep into the soles of your feet.

mushroom from the backyard.