Waiting for the Sun

Earlier this month, the earth opened up with promising buds - purple, yellow, white. Buds that remind me of butterflies, the sound of swing set chains needing oiled, the smell of fresh mown grass, and the smell of rain-soaked earth. Rain. The last two days we have carried the remnants of puddles on our shoes and tried to shake the chill off our shoulders each time we step inside. While this rain is a welcome sign for our new trees, it's a blatant reminder of the transition that is Spring. Our windowsill serves as lobby for Audrey's sprouts waiting for a warm frost-proof day. We dart out between showers to run errands or huddle up in the library, happy for a warm, dry destination or a good book to take us somewhere a little less gray. Today I bought some beautiful yarn, a brilliantly-hued blend of wool, alpaca, and silk to begin work on a hat for someone else. Curling up to knit something with warm chunky yarn felt just right for today, but I have no desire to be wearing the alpaca myself. As I grab for sweaters in the morning, I keep eyeing the cotton capri pants and knit dresses just hangers away. Tonight the spicy smell of cumin and chili powder sauteing amidst ground turkey and kidney beans was the recipe for comfort, but the thought of fresh-picked strawberries makes my mouth water. I have one foot buried under the comforter and the other ready to feel the spongy grass, as I wait for the rain to subside and the sun to come, bringing with it thoughts of snapdragons and twinkling jars of lightening bugs.