Spring Fever

The joy of spring is bubbling up in me and spilling out all over the place. The laundry is piling up; that's okay. The children bicker; I can deal with that. I lost an hour of sleep in the time change that my body will not stop looking for; yep, that's all good, too.

Why? Because it's spring-- if not by the calendar, then at least by

the melted snow

and crocuses

and buds on the trees

and the wild mustard and the robins and earthworms and tulips and the warm sunshine.

And in my heart spring is here. It's pumping through me to my hands that want to dig into the dirt to plant things, to my feet that want to tramp through the yard and woods, to my nose that breathes in all the smells of green and dirt and freshness, and to my ears that listen for the next squeal or shout from a child just discovering another sign of new life in the great outdoors.

Like Christmas, spring is a time that is internalized, so anticipated that it isn't just about a date on the calendar anymore. It more like a promise of joy and life. And that promise lifts the weight of winter off my shoulders, making me near giddy.