I find it exceedingly interesting that I was born during a month of spring. For so long, I haven't really enjoyed spring at all. And I can still understand why I suppose, as spring leads to summer, and summer means the reign of the sun, and the reign of the sun means less comfort from hot drinks and a sunburned earth. Selfish summer.
Or perhaps I am just trivial.
But this year has been much different. Not just in the sense that spring has taken her time, lingering much longer than I remember, but I have actually been glad for her stay, for her company, content in just studying her face, her hands, her eyes, realizing all the things I had missed before. The green around the blue iris, the softness of her smile as it curves to one side of her face and then the other, the gentle curl of her peach colored hair, and the small scar on her right forefinger.
Yes, last year felt much different. I felt the burden of her stay, of what she would herald in, that coming of the summer wind. I was sad to hold her hand, reluctant to follow, walking instead with eyes turned down, resisting her tug. The path she lead me down I knew the end, yet I did not see what was around, I did not stop to look at what she showed me; for all I saw on that day was the edge of my boots and the weeds and the shadows.
I missed the precious season altogether.
But, this time, I let her come and spread my fingers with her own, surprised to find it a perfect fit. She squeezed my hand, another surprise, and pulled my sleeve to lead me down the way, but for a moment stopped to whisper in my ear, "just breath, it'll be okay." So down we went along the bends and the dips under canopy green, a slow pursuit of her childhood haunts she wanted to show. The lane of trees she said once seemed to stretch on forever, the infant flowers reaching for the sun, and then there was the spotted mushrooms by the big oak tree where she said the rabbits hide.
And then her eyes looked back at me, to see if I was coming, to know if I would look. Would he see the life, the earth, the breathe, the buzzing and the bloom? And in that pause I knew that this moment, well, it was different, this time I did not dread it. So I squeezed her hand back and met her gaze, the smile and the laugh, and I knew the time had come to love that which I had lost.