it begins to melt

It's that time of year: the snow has really begun to melt in earnest now. The yard is swampy, full of fall revelation (having two dogs is deliriously wonderful at this point--can you hear the sarcasm?--and the regret at not being more diligent in the autumn?), and I don't mind the process, since I know the result: green. I promise to celebrate it, celebrate the grass, celebrate the open air, celebrate the shifting from here to now.

Last year, at the start of March, evidence of true snow: here and here and here. By the end of the month, we were outside, relaxing. (And then, with the point-and-shoot.) I love my photo-a-day for evidence of the change in seasons; I can anticipate when I'll see bloom again.

Yesterday, I spent enough time worrying about next year I physically made myself sick. And today, I realize how ridiculous that was--I am destroying the insides of myself, shredding my organs in worry. I am afraid I won't get off the wait list (so close is so hard); I'm afraid if I leave for Florida or Boston, I'll put my relationship in jeopardy and I'll miss home too much; I'm afraid if I do low-res, I'll regret not going full throttle in the same way.

But today, I am simply going to look forward to some of the delights in my near future:

- This weekend will be a long celebration of my husband. His birthday coincides with St Patrick's Day, and we have guests coming throughout the weekend: Mike and his dog Dallas on Friday, and on Saturday: the Winona gang, only one of whom is still in Winona, along with my girl friends Chris and Kelly (and Kelly's husband). I am also excited about some of his presents--I know he does not read this blog, so I can tell you: I ordered seeds so we can grow our own hops along the tall fence in our backyard and I've commissioned a piece of artwork to celebrate the love and luck we've had together (among other more mundane things).
- In exactly one week, I will be on my way to New Orleans with my best friend. Even though we've been close, sister-like, since we were thirteen years old, we have yet to take any significant trip together. We were very lucky--I had points to redeem on my credit card for airline miles, and she has a friend who is stationed down there. I am in dire need of regular travel (I blame this fully on Nikki and my grandmother, by the way, for inspiring me to seek out life in other corners of the globe). Palm Beach is a distant memory.

I am feeling quiet again, the need to reflect, to unfurl, just as those bits of leaves will, just as the blossoms will, just as the garden will do. I hadn't been as aware before--that hibernation of winter, the rebirth of an emotional self in the spring. I love this time of year; there is so much anticipation.