spring has settled itself so comfortably here in nashville, tennessee. the tulips have yawned and stretched, preaching reds and yellows to the formerly blank waiting world. the oak trees are waking up slowly, budding. the cherry trees have just passed their moments of pink majesty. and the bluest of skies have been the perfect backdrop. so has been late march. so has been april.
but the spell is momentarily broken by a cold snap. today is grey and 40 degrees. tiny pinpricks of rain dotting the windows. it's cappuccino weather. i've steamed gallons and gallons of foam today. it comforts cold bellies, growing accustomed to 70 degree days.
it's nearly 11 o'clock now, and i just sat outside for one more cigarette before i feed the turtles and call it a night. i sat on the porch and watched the wind sway the trees under a bright white sky like december. i huddled under my sweater, drawing my limbs close.
but i didn't shiver.
instead, i remembered all the barebones of a recent, but already almost forgotten winter: an out of season moment nearly threw me backward. but. spring will be back on thursday, the visionary meteorologists proclaim. consider the lilies, becca preached in her easter homily yesterday. tonight, i consider them huddled together, freezing in fields, confused. but so soon, they will relax again under an april sun, rejoicing in their time to be living lilies.
winter really has passed, despite the day.
yesterday, i wanted to sit in front of the computer and draw out words from my fingers. i wanted to tell the story of sitting on st augustine's wooden floor, with a lapfull of prayers, at 7 am, reading each one in the company of marlei, who was doing the same thing: the prayer vigil that brings us from maundy thursday to good friday.
and i wanted to write about maundy thursday itself: a day of lying under an oak tree in the backyard, warm sun on my chest and a book in my hand. later, i lay on the plywood floor of the still skeletal new magdalene house, staring up at the sky. we began the prayer vigil there. we held silence for a long time at dusk, in a neighborhood where shoes hanging from powerlines indicates what drugs are available. i closed my eyes, prayed for this sanctuary being built. every time i opened me eyes, another star had appeared in the darkening sky, blinking like a child just woken up.
i wanted to tell the story of jacksons: sitting around a table with marlei and becca and a green apple martini. we told our stories, celebrated our moments of bravery and self-care. we toasted each other. and i just basked in their presence. these are women who remind me what it means to be alive.
all these things i wanted to write. instead, i went to work.
so, here i am, the day after, turning it all in late. and i am wishing my little blog a belated happy birthday, as she turned two yesterday.