Mar 14, 2011, 07:17AM

A Dream of Spring

"My finger is so far in my eye I am viewing the bone of my own knuckle."

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~ Maria ~

The air usually flowing in and out of my open nostrils is redirected along the pathway of my open mouth. I am full up with both catarrh and anticipation. The evenings are growing lighter just in time for the whole world to see my eyes are growing red.

Summer is upon us in some regions of the planet; it is that time of year when we can be divided into so many bipolar categories; the hangers-on and the go-aheads; the optimists and the pessimists; the all-embracing and the ever-suspicious. It is funny to watch people step outside, big toe first, like stepping into a hot bath, brave and yet untrusting. It is funny to watch people step outside like they don't believe in the temperature of the world; clutching overcoats, umbrellas and cab fare, just in case.

All eyes linger upon one small gray cloud overhead that is clearly getting bigger, darker, looking more and more like rain. It is all people are talking about; indeed it seems to be the only thing worth noting. People re-adjust their desks by office windows, keeping an eye on the cloud in the peripheries of each spreadsheet page. People leave the news on mute, in the background of each pending task, in order to be the first in the know if there is any sudden change.

I am cycling without my hat on, and it’s good to feel the wind rub by my ears again. It is good to smell cut grass and flowers as I weave in and out of springtime exhaust fumes. It is good to note new blades of grass forcing their way out between freshly-planted blocks of studio apartments. It is good to see advertisements have stopped selling us Christmas and begun to sell the sun. It is uplifting to cycle past panoramas of beaches and beautiful meadows and forest clearings on a worrying cloud-spotted day. It is good to wear sunglasses; it keeps the crude light rays at bay and tones down this violent colour-led cascade.

Springtime is less confusing when it's uniform, when it creeps up on us like hot water on a cool frog, giving us enough time to get ourselves acquainted with the problem. None of this blue skies and ooh-la-la’s and I believe in miracles. Just one nice long overcast day that works on us subtly, without the shock factor, without all the nerves and insecurities that meld with blinding dates and sudden sunshine. Just one nice long overcast day that works on us from the bones out, month after month, until one fine morning, reflected in the mirror, we see two sun-kissed arms holding a beach ball and an ice cream, and realize we are in a great mood and that it's summer and we've all had babies.

Subtlety, that's all I'm after, and a little stability to my cloud formations. Ideally, the seasons should be a smooth shallow gradient that undulates but does not ever really change.


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