And It's The Note That StingsI have learned this much, living here: Spring is doled out in dollops (sometimes starting as early as now), little tastes of warm breezes and sunlight. It pays to be careful with these. As easy as it is to shuck coats and grab a Frisbee, it is worth noting that it is not quite as warm as it seems, and winter lurks ever near (sometimes as far along as May). This is no reason not to take in what one can, though. Today found many moments fueled by bright light outside on patios, lawns, hillsides. The hawk that haunts our workplace wheeled happy in the young wind. Faces were upturned and smiling.
Even as the sun fell early, the mild air lingered this evening, as it did the last. This is another excuse to sit long on the porch, musing at the gathering dim and waiting for the dough to finish rising, the oven to finish heating up the chunk of rock that sits in there, patient. I know, too, that there is something of a sting at the back of this gentle hand of weather. The last time the winds came howling through, one of my neighbors lost a chimney, a great mass of mortar and brick succumbing in a crash I remember but cannot describe. I have my own chimneys. We will have wind tonight. I should likely not worry. I have never been too smart about that sort of thing.
For now, though, the porch is a welcome place, swept by warm breeze, made gentle with tea. Overhead, planes take their careful cone of approach, strobing the thin clouds and sending spears forward.
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