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All I want for my Birthday.

January 23, 2010

In all of this gray, drab weather, I find myself alone among my generally indoorsy (yet adorably literate) friends in longing for the sun.  I feel like a part of me is in hibernation when the sky sulks in subtle shades of white and gray.  Sure, there are rainboots for splashing, coats and scarves for warming, even hot cocoa for treating the soul to a splash of delight.  But there is something about that first ray of sunshine… it is small at first, curious, inspecting the wintry world and finding much to be desired.  So it grows.  Soon the entire world bathes in sunshine, baptized in the warm bliss of the first spring day. 

I can almost hear the laughter from outside, where the beautiful men brave a shirtless day for my… ahem, their enjoyment.  They play frisbee, like happy young  retrievers, smiles on their faces, muscles rippling in the sunshine, the tiniest hint of sweat starting to bead at their…

Ahem.  Back to spring. 

The trunk of my car opens to a miniature toystore, customized for my pleasure, including (but not limited to) a bright red blanket for reading on the grass, a soccerball, two tennis rackets and about a dozen perky tennis balls, even some fireworks and a canteen.  These items, along with the Selected Poems of Wordsworth  or The Portable Dorothy Parker make for a splendid day of mother earth at her best. 

On this first day I savor the warmth of the sun in a special praise, a special gratitude for the renewing of both the earth and myself.  I feel the rays soaking golden into my skin, arousing my insatiable nerves, tingling my cheeks to a lushious pink.  My eyes close, and a sigh releases the burdens of winter as I lounge in my enlightenment. 

My backyard

My backyard up until about a year ago.

 

My ancestors were Italian, and must have enjoyed the temperance of the Mediterranean everyday as I get to enjoy these few months out of the year.  I feel like they remember their pleasant summers through me in these moments, and I get to feel the color of their nostalgia painting my spring with lovely turquoise skies and golden-green leaves.  Then the world remembers that it is only spring, and the kiss of perfection fades into chilly indifference once more.  Gray rain washes away my happy day in an act too literal for my poetic taste to appreciate. 

I always think of spring as my birthday present, right at the beginning of March.  Self-centered?  Naturally.  But I don’t care.  It makes me happy.  Or at least it will, once it gets here.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. Jenna permalink
    January 25, 2010 10:32 pm

    you, me, Wordsworth, and a mountain. this combo is in the future.

    I rolled the windows down and turned the heater on to imitate Spring today in honor of you. feel proud 🙂

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