Leaving Cleveland Park – 6:20pm

Slow steps. 

There is no need to be in a rush when the sun is still shining at 6:20pm and for the first time in ages it is warm. 
Warm. 
Warm enough to toss my cardigan into my purse. 
Warm enough to sweep my hair up in a clip. 
Warm enough to take slow steps through the neighborhood streets with my head up instead of buried inside a scarf.  Warm enough to look around.

The neighborhood is buzzing with the sounds of children who have been released into front yards after being cooped up all winter.  Their squeals and laughter are like a parade to welcome April.  And as I come around the corner, I run into the Grand Marshall. 

Swinging in a tire swing, from a pear tree in full bloom, is a little boy in his underwear, rain boots, and a kitchen apron tied around his neck for a cape.  He’s holding a stick and swinging back and forth and just screaming in delight. 

The unabashed joy of a sunny day he simply can not contain.

Brookside Gardens – 8:00am

Things are going to get easier.
The way the ground gives way to my feet as I walk is a sure clue.
There is a softening that comes with spring.  A delicate painters touch that sweeps across the landscape. 
A wash of warmth. 

Things are going to get easier.

It seems like years that I’ve been waiting for the forsythia to come back.
February was too long this year.
They are piled in a heap – they way they always are. 
Springing forth can be exhausting. 
I’m just delighted by the promise and hope of yellow.

Things are going to get easier. 

6:38pm – Hanover Parkway, Reisterstown MD

Driving away from the retreat center I catch a glimpse of the sky in my rearview mirror.  Breathtaking, marbled shades of blue and orange on the horizon as the sun slowly slips away.  How lovely to be driving with the windows rolled down on an early March evening. 

And it dawns on me…

This is the night that I wait for all year long.

This is the night that the kids come to youth group in flip flops for the first time since October.  This is the night we put our plans aside to play four square until we can’t see.  This is the night that we start talking about summer and kickball and trips to the beach.  This is the night when the laughter comes in big giant waves and peace is the flicker of a citronella candle.

This is the night I’ll sleep with my window open.  This is the night when my hope in spring is restored. 

This is the night I thought would never get here.

And now it is.

6:41 am – Making Tea

Water starts to bubble from the bottom of the pot slowly making it’s way to a boil as the light of day breaks through morning’s resistance.  My bare feet meet the ridges of the hardwood floors.  My toes sink into the rhythm of dawn.  Largo and pianissimo.  Every movement a dotted whole note. 

Pouring the water over leaves I come to realize that this habit has become ritual.  Tea in the morning and the same quiet thought.

I wrap both hands around an oversized turquoise mug with pink peonies and hold it for few moments before taking a sip.

Filled.

I close my eyes and give thanks for another day.  I give thanks for this moment and remember that I am blessed.

10:00am – Tenlytown Metro Station

He couldn’t be missed with his giant purple pom pom hat.

Maybe he was 2 years old.  Not more than 3.  He was wrapped from head to toe in winter gear.  He was so bundled he waddled as he walked.

The Metro station was crowded for a Sunday morning.  The rush of people seemed to scoop him up into the flow.  For a few steps his little pom pom hat bobbed in front of me.  Falling into line to get onto the escalator he left my line of vision. 

Surely his parents were somewhere close. 

Turning my head to see if he was nearby, I felt a little warm hand in mine.  Five tiny fingers were clutched to three of mine. 

I searched for somebody’s eyes to give me a knowing nod that this little one had mistaken me for his Momma.  The woman behind me caught my stare and reassured me with her smile and nodded back that he belonged to her. 

In that moment of relief those little fingers holding onto mine were a powerful image.

How freely that little boy asked for help.  Without worry or fear…with complete confidence that somebody would be there…he simply reached out his hand.

4:11am – Hotel Room Balcony, Sandestin Florida

A lulling swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, from the waves.  Gentle and soothing.  Consitency is their song.  Unpredictable is the water but continual is the tide.   Immutable, the water laps against the shoreline and pacifies the night.  Reaching , the water washes over the sand and pulls everything back in an embrace.  Determined, the water pushes through whatever stands in its way. 

The water is faithful. 

Eyes closed.  Love sings me to sleep.

7:24am – 30,000 Ft

Wonder and awe beat anxiety at 30,000 feet.  Looking out the little airplane window I am stunned by the blue of the sky.  Is it cornflower blue?  Periwinkle?  It’s a blue I have never seen before.  Is this what it would be like to be on the inside of a saphire?   And the formation of the clouds.  So billowy and soft and inviting.  Like a feather bed at your grandparent’s house in the country.  The daydreams that could be inspired by a bed of clouds. 

I laugh at myself because I always say I’m not a “nature girl.”  But maybe I am.  My heart beats faster when I get glimpses of God’s artistry up close like this.  And I can’t help but think of all the other little wonders of His creation that astound me.

Like seahorses.  And lady bugs.  And clementines.  And pomegranates. 

3:30pm – Walking Home From Starbucks

My mind keeps searching for a synonym for darkness. 

Something that captures the breath of dark.  It is a biting, steely, breath that gasps in strangulation.  Something that captures the smell of darkness.  It is the stench of rot.  Something that captures the feel of darkness.  It is the feeling of the lake bottom meeting your feet – slime touching your skin and a knee jerk reaction.  Something to capture the space of darkness.  It is the clammy recesses of a cave…it is the furtherst, tiniest, crevice where rock and earth’s dregs are joined…it is the fracture of the interior that only allows for your fingernail to scrape against it picking up the mire.

My soul is not meant to dwell here. 

In this moment I choose Love.

8:05am – T2 To Rockville

My thoughts are far away this morning.

I think they are in France. 

The outskirts of Paris in a forgotten little neighborhood that is still and hushed.  It smells like rosemary and fresh baked baguette.  And when it snows here, the flakes come down in alphabet shapes and dance together to spell things like “ooh la la” and “creme brulee” before they make their way to the ground. The snowmen are all wearing berets and smoking Gauloises.  Miss Clavel walks down the street with twelve little girls in two straight lines.  The specialty at the cafe on the corner is chocolate crepes.

I’m brought back to here and now by the momma on the bus that really is saying shh, shh, shh.  Her little one fidgeting in her lap.  A bundle of fleece and crocheted blankets.

Outside the window the snowflakes fall slowly and almost singularly.  Just a hint of winter today.  Something to tease the palette.  Mother Nature’s amuse buche.

Shepherd & 16th St. NW – 4:10pm

Broodiness is settling in as the snow turns over to sleet.  Sleet brings a different kind of cold and a different kind of grey.  Charcoal instead of silvery.  All the gathered precipitation on my shoulders makes me feel every bit 6 o’clock.  Done.  Time to be home.  Eventhough my cell phone says it ‘s just past 4.

It also saysI have voicemail.

Rapping on the keypad with a mitten covered hand, I am unwilling to sacrifice the warmth of fleece and expose even a pinky to the elements.  And I then I hear a familiar voice.  I respond to it by breathing in a full deep breath into my belly.  Maybe the first deep breath of the day.  My vision is blurred by the collection of sleet on my eyelashes.  My head is lifted…my toes are smiling and curled under.  The clock turns back to nearly noon with every lilt, inflection and intonation. 

Distracted by delight, I land both feet in a puddle of slush.  And I don’t mind a bit.