Spring

We hadn't seen the sun in a week. Seven days of gray skies and heavy fog and an occasional shower or two. It's a prescription for blah.

And then. We walked out of church yesterday into bright sunlight. Blue skies. Birds singing.

Glory.

Corey went for a run. I sat on the deck with Teyla and drenched myself in sunshine.

Neighbors emerged -- without winter coats -- pushing strollers, riding bikes, holding hands. Connor came inside and begged me to get down his bike, to get out his shorts, to find his sandals. (It was 64.)

Exhale.

I made Teyla a sandwich of natural peanut butter and homemade whole wheat bread.

"I feel almost virtuous, feeding her so well," I called down to Corey, who'd returned from his run.

"Yes, but you're sitting in the sunshine without any sunscreen on," he retorted.

True.

(Pardon the months-old pedicure. My feet have been warmly clothed in socks until now.)

Natalie fished out her roller blades.

I lusted over the shiny sports cars driving by.

Connor was driving them.

I could smell dirt and hear the phoebes call. The gutters ran fast with water, the last of the snow piles melting like the Wicked Witch.

The sun started to reflect off the siding. The dog retreated to the shade.

I got out Teyla's favorite deck toy.

And look: Our first bug of 2010.

I made smoky beef tacos for dinner with perfectly ripe avocados and cumin rice and beans. We lingered in the extra hour of sunlight, the perfect ending to a day of fresh hope. The windows were thrown wide open, perfuming the house with the fragrance of all things made new.

No one appreciates spring like those who've lived through a long winter.

Spring is when life returns. Dead things bloom. Miracles happen.

We made it. We're almost there.

Just a few more weeks, little one.

And you and spring will be with us always.