Perceptions of Spring - III
--
Joseph Goldstein
Hours
before the vernal equinox – the first day of spring according to
the calendar, winter roared back in. Schools closed, plows rumbled
over the streets, the brown open fields settled back into white, and
we all gave up a little hope and reverted to patience.
I've
been part of this dance before. I know the roofs will drip snow like
frosting and icicles won't have a chance under this March sun.
Winter can't hold on.
My
mind is getting in the way, though. And it's not the weather that
confounds me, it's the calendar.
The
calendar is telling me that spring is coming because it is time now
for my younger two to register for fall classes at the High School.
It is time for the letters to come from the colleges telling Meg
whether she has been accepted or rejected. It is time for me to make
hotel reservations for my parents who will be flying to Maine in June
for graduation.
This
is where I try to placate my uneasiness by making nice analogies to
new beginnings, seeds bursting forth, fertile soil. But I can't. My
mind keeps darting around, trying to understand. Acceptances?
Rejections? Graduate? These words have a finalness to them that don't
belong in spring. I like spring. I love
spring. I'm a nice grounded person; I'm not a doting,
over-protective, “helicopter” mother; I meditate and do yoga; I
don't drink caffeine... Somehow I seem to think that I don't deserve
this snowstorm at the vernal equinox.
But
my calendar is showing me that time just keeps marching towards the
moment, square by numbered square, when I will be done raising my
oldest child at home. And it is happening this spring. Which is
now.
It's
a good thing I have a heart to enfold my mind, pouting and stamping
its foot at the calendar like a stubborn child. I need my heart to
soothe my fears around the coming season. And I will need it to
gently make room for the quiet sadness that is taking up residence as
the snow melts.