A bird serenades the yard. The sound flies in through the window and settles in my stirring spirit where I sit silently, heart longing for something it cannot name.
Spring is here.
My soul is sparked by the sounds of singing spring: lawnmowers grumbling and sputtering back to life after their long winter naps; lazy dogs yawning where they lounge languidly on the deck (even the taunting squirrels do not rouse them); the breeze carrying the melody of birthing smells, of dirt and buds and new grass. The song calls me out of my dusty house and into the greening world.
Memories flood my mind as my skin soaks in sunlight. Oh sun, sun, smiling sun! I ache for the warmth of a day at the river, toddlers waddling and picnics unpacked. For trips to the zoo where the monkeys holler and Dad makes the lion roar. For cookouts and family and evenings spent stargazing. For the engulfing fragrance of flowers and gardens floating on the air as we walk through the wide open world. For frisbee and books and blankets in sunshined parks.
It’s funny how the season of newness makes me feel old with life well-lived and loved.