A time of turning attentions outward. The long season of chilly gray rain has abated and the world is fragile green and bolting skyward. The woods, though gently swelling with buds, are still bare enough to let the sun stream fully to the floor below and ferns are unfurling in the sudden light. Drifts of bluets, armies of saucy yellow dandelions compete with dark tufts of crab grass in what soon will be a lawn.
The number/variety of birds is astounding. Bright flashes of color and love songs assault the senses. Peeper toads carry to tune into the dark. Everyone is happy outside.
Plants are unfolding and stretching toward the sun. I spent several hours planting flower seedlings in long dark rows of earth with Elise for her cutting garden. We organized the plants by height and color, sinking our fingers into the humus while Gunther sat close by in the “shadow” watching us and his chickens.
At the end of the day, when I slide between the sheets, I picture tucking Gunther into his bed for a nap. With a giant sigh, he settled back and closed his eyes. I carefully placed his oxygen tubing over his ears and smooth the covers. He fell so quickly into his dreams. Adopt his sense of calm, the knowledge that the world will be right here when I wake up. I settle in bed with Alice, turn out the lights and open my heart.