Yesterday’s vernal equinox arrived with fresh snow that melted as the sun brightened. As I prepared for a small birthday celebration, I watched the drips from the eaves. Listened to the twittering of finches in the garden and followed the flash of wings: juncos, varied thrushes, a downy woodpecker, red-breasted nuthatch, chickadees. So many little things to notice about spring and my birthday. Lunch with Mom, remarking that I’m glad to be here and thanking her for her part in that. She reminded me that my arrival woke her up in the middle of the night 54 years ago. We laughed. Yellow flowers on my table–primrose, daffodil, forsythia. Setting chairs out for guests and loving how the light came in the windows as the sun moves north. Friends arrived and mingled. From the kitchen, I heard the conversation and laughter. The clink of forks on plates. Stories. Familiar voices weaving in and out. Feeling warmth in my chest and a smile on my face to have them here. Little things–the pleasure of their company. A house is a container for experiences, for sharing and joy and even love.
Back to work today, and back home this afternoon. I changed into “play” clothes and went into the garden to seek out the sun-illuminated flowers. They’re all small and durable; the crocus, snowdrops and purple primrose. The chickens and I scuffed around in the dry leaves. I squatted down to admire the glowing nubbins of life, struck once again by how they come up from the frozen ground. This never ceases to spark my sense of wonder, no matter how many times I witness the changing seasons. All the little things leave me helpless with love.