march winds

Good Friday: the wild wind batters the door. The last leaves of winter scatter down the sidewalk. They remind me of October sidewalk magic, that autumn sunset and that boy's smile that held the whole world. This winter has been long and ghost-filled, sorrow and laughter and the snow mountain in the front yard. Unexpected inspiration found in cupboards while rattling around this house. In November, speeding to Providence in Tara's broken car. Writing stories at 2AM by the light of the Christmas tree. The dark nights of depression and fear. Times when the sun took me by surprise. Winter break mornings alone in the house, doing laundry while listening to Patrick Wolf. Going back to school, back to sidewalks and cold wind, stockings and boots and the return of friendship.

This winter has been an age, a time, a book. These strong winds turn and tear the pages, smudge the latest scribblings, until I slam the cover and lock it shut. I am not sure what to do with summer. Spring always takes me by surprise. There are two days until Easter trees, pastel ribbons on fenceposts, and the memory of wide-brimmed flowery hats. There's talk of resurrection. It's the day after the equinox and I feel something starting.