Sublimation

Annika's learning high school biology currently and recently read about sublimation.  I feel as if winter sublimated into mid-spring this year, completely skipping the transitional phases that early spring brings.  Snow, white, brown, gray, cold wind, and then-- BOOM-- sun, warmth, breezes, and greeny-gold glowing brightly in all the corners of sight.

Last night I nearly cried at the perfection of sound and sight-- hearing the persistent call of the red-winged blackbird while watching the liquid movement of copper hair, a girl I love jogging down a path of sunlight before me.  Juneberry blossoms rise like froth in hedgerows and greening springs everywhere we turn. Peepers, small and steady, fill the dark with nightsong. A dozen swallows swooping in front of the kitchen window this morning stopped me still, their delicate tracings a grace I can't understand, and one that works wonder in spite of it all. 

My hair is falling out, which for the last several years is my harbinger that hormones are shifting, which, in turn, makes fending off certain thoughts, emotions, and regrets difficult for a while.  Knowing this late arriving "baby blues" for what it is allows me to keep things in perspective mostly, though nights are sometimes hard.  I am knee-deep (or submerged, breathing through a reed Someone slipped through the muck) in my personal sloughs of despond at times, but spring helps light return.   It always does.

And when it comes right down to it, this truth remains.