Release the Quackin'

Technically, it is at last spring. The last week or so has felt like a fast forward to July, but at least the mornings still have a little bite and the grass is dewy. One or two trees outside are budding, confused by the odd winter and odder rush of heat that came after. The lakes have melted; ducks and robins aplenty are pooping happily all over the parks again.

And, with the sun setting later in the day, I can take glorious sunset pictures again.

One week ago today, I planted an amaryllis bulb my brother-in-law gave me for Christmas. It's already in full bloom, with two more buds waiting to be unleashed.

Fall and winter are always in competition for my favorite season. Usually, fall wins out, but spring is so invigorating that I always reconsider it on arrival. (It eventually loses out because of bugs and impending heat.) This is our first full spring back in the Midwest, and part of me is surprised at all the green appearing, almost as if I didn't expect anything to turn green.

Around this time, when the air turns blustery, I think of a favorite poem: Days That the Wind Takes Over, by Karla Kuskin.

Days that the wind takes over
Blowing through the gardens
Blowing birds out of the street trees
Blowing cats around corners
Blowing my hair out
Blowing my heart apart
Blowing high in my head
Like the sea sound caught in a shell.
One child put her thin arms around the wind
And they went off together.
Later the wind came back
Alone.

P.S. I am not ashamed of my pun in the title of this post. I'm proud of it, even.