Spring is coming. I woke up this morning and I just barely realized that.
The funny thing is that I have been teaching about the season of "spring" for the past two weeks. I've explained that birds will return to the trees and build nests, that flowers will push up from the ground and bloom all around us, that my students will get to go outside for recess again. I've taught these concepts with confidence and conviction. Spring will come.
But the keyword in this is "will." My consciousness was not aware of "will." I've been telling my students spring will come, but within myself I've asked, Will spring come? I hoped that it would. I think that I was even inwardly praying for it. But I didn't know for sure. It was as if the White Witch from the Chronicles of Narnia had swooped down and cast her spell of perpetual winter in my head. I didn't know if it would end.

And then it was here. I woke up and there were flowers pushing mulch that covers the small space of ground that I can call my own. Birds infested our feeder outside the window--Goldfinches, Mourning Doves, Black-eyed Junkos, and a Downy Woodpecker. I walked outside and my lungs didn't constrict. They expanded.

I asked David if he saw the birds at the feeder. He looked at me confused; the birds had been at the feeder for two weeks.

Even the squirrel who eats our birdseed has emerged. Last spring, David and I tried to throw water on him to chase him away because he scares away our birds. I hid by the sliding door and David waited outside at the bottom of the balcony. On the signal, I opened the door and threw water at him from a cup. He dove to the safety of the ground, only to be assaulted by another cup of water. But he came back the next day anyway. Now we just let him stay and hope that the birds will take care of themselves.

Spring is here, and I missed its coming. A finch hops around the ground as I sit here and type this. I pause to watch it. I don't want to miss anything else.