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My Planet's Child
Apr. 14th, 2011 12:14 pmI've known that I am a creature of the earth for years now, but every spring it still boggles me a little bit just how much a change in the world and the weather can bring about a change in my mood.
Things have been slowly getting warmer and better for the past week or so, and each hour of sunlight, each minute outside stretched instead of hunched, feels like shedding pounds of fatigue and misery and fear. I honestly believe that the ten minutes I spent outside on Monday, barefoot on my lawn, face up to the sky (and, okay, rolling around on the grass like a catnipped-out kitten) did more for my health and sanity than any drug or doctor ever could.
And today I am sitting at work, looking longingly out the window at white clouds and blue sky, happy to be doing a job I love but impatiently waiting for the afternoon, and the first good long walk of the season. The trees may still be bare, but the air smells like life, and the forsythia have burst overnight into impatient, riotous yellow flowers, and the dogwoods are starting to have the faintest haze of pink at the tips of their branches, and the sun on my face and hair will feel like a promise from the only God that matters that everything will be okay.
I've tried sun lamps, and indoor gardens, but none of them are right. They feel like bottled water tastes; like a mediocre massage chair from a knock-off Sharper Image catalog compared to a full-on backrub from the hands of someone you love. This is the real thing.
The world is coming back to life, and I am, too.
Things have been slowly getting warmer and better for the past week or so, and each hour of sunlight, each minute outside stretched instead of hunched, feels like shedding pounds of fatigue and misery and fear. I honestly believe that the ten minutes I spent outside on Monday, barefoot on my lawn, face up to the sky (and, okay, rolling around on the grass like a catnipped-out kitten) did more for my health and sanity than any drug or doctor ever could.
And today I am sitting at work, looking longingly out the window at white clouds and blue sky, happy to be doing a job I love but impatiently waiting for the afternoon, and the first good long walk of the season. The trees may still be bare, but the air smells like life, and the forsythia have burst overnight into impatient, riotous yellow flowers, and the dogwoods are starting to have the faintest haze of pink at the tips of their branches, and the sun on my face and hair will feel like a promise from the only God that matters that everything will be okay.
I've tried sun lamps, and indoor gardens, but none of them are right. They feel like bottled water tastes; like a mediocre massage chair from a knock-off Sharper Image catalog compared to a full-on backrub from the hands of someone you love. This is the real thing.
The world is coming back to life, and I am, too.
