I've got to be frank. Not Frank, but frank. I am struggling. Sigh. I feel like I have been dragging old car bodies around behind me for a couple of weeks now. I am lacking a lighthearted spring in my step; a joie de vivre that could bounce me merrily through the days. The worst part about it is that, despite some stern self-questioning, I can't really work out why. Perhaps it's not as difficult as I'm imagining, indeed, my suspicions are that it's quite simple: Spring has not sprung.
It has snowed three times since the official start of Spring, and while I've been very grateful for the blue skies that we've had in between, it is not enough. It is as simple as that. I want more. I want Spring. Spring with a capital S. I want buds, shoots of green, daffodils. I want blue skies, muddy lawns, robins looking for grubs. I want freshly thawed mittens on the side of the road, revealed for the first time since their snowy burial. I want one layer and everyday shoes - for all of us. I want, I want, I want.
Which doesn't help, I know. I should be looking for the little everyday joys; appreciating The Moment; letting it go and loving Right Now. But I am assaulted in the night by dreams of Australia - beaches, bright tropical light, warmth, sunshine - so that I wake with an old car body's-worth of aching homesickness to clatter along behind me the rest of the day.
This, too, shall pass. In the meantime, I will plod along, muddle through, look for signs. Like the crimson red cardinals, newly at our bird feeder. Or the joy of a dog at the "beach." Or a boy, ready to garden, as soon as it's warm enough to take his winter hat off.