This is the end of April. May is just a couple of days away, and once again I’ve been robbed of spring. Last year, I was in the hospital–when I went in, it was winter; when I came out, everything was sporting new spring colors.
This year, Mom’s the sick one, as everyone knows by now, and about all I’ve seen of spring amounts to this pipe cleaner in the picture. Unlike my house, Mom’s windows are high and, with the exception of the kitchen window, the drapes are always closed. When I wash dishes, I can see the neighbor’s dry grass, reminding me that we haven’t had rain in months. We had the March winds, but no April showers. Whether any flowers survive the drought to pop up in May is yet to be seen.
But from what I understand, spring is suffering from bi-polar disease these days anyway–or at the very least, an identity crisis. Some of my friends are still snowed in with blue toes and trembling lips. Others are shivering at the prospect of being blown away by tornadoes. Here is no better: west Texas has already hit its August highs. Believe me, I dread what the summer will bring.
Today, though, is beautiful. Low humidity, sun shining, birds singing, squirrels chasing each other. Even in the city, bits of wildlife can capture my attention and my heart. Although I miss the sight of my pond . . . my almost dried-up pond . . .
On second thought, maybe it’s a blessing I can’t see what’s happening at home. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m in town where everyone except the lady across the street has sprinkler systems or at least the desire to water their grass.
And maybe I’ll take a walk today, while Mom sleeps off the effects of Benadryl and Vicodin.