The grass is matted down to the earth, still unaware that the snow has melted.
The days alternate between gray skies, late winter flurries that melt instantly, fierce winds that drop the temperature by ten degrees, and glorious, bright sunshine-filled days.
The gray skies feel numbing after this long winter. The late winter flurries confuse and tease. The wind feels forceful, but the sun, the sun transforms.
It melts the snow and sends droplets falling from every surface, flickering as the light catches them in free fall. Small streams run at the edges of streets, cars splash through deep puddles, the world comes alive.
But that grass is still stuck, seemingly frozen in place.
I feel like that grass.
I have largely sequestered myself at home. Finding comfort in the familiar four walls that contain my children, I know what to expect. I know that if Danny runs off, he is either 1) playing with one of the three sinks in our home 2) upstairs dumping out the Duplo box to make the tallest tower or 3) wandering the house with my phone taking pictures of the dog, the walls, pillows, piles of clothes (dirty and clean), and most recently himself (He prefers a blue-tinted filter for everything).
But I am growing restless and have been itching for my brain to thaw. I imagine my neural pathways stuck in routine, matted together like leaves of grass. I feel my brain and body gaining clarity and momentum with the sunshine and all these ideas and projects have come rushing in.
Traveling, book clubs, hiking clubs, art classes, play-dates, curated closet, bathroom remodel, kitchen remodel, theater, gardening, movies, writing and these ideas keep looping around over and over.
So I sit frozen, unable to make any progress on any of those ideas (Except the one day I managed to remove the seashell wallpaper in the bathroom!) and then I get sad and frustrated and I wallow and sulk in all those unexplored ideas and wonder if any will ever come to fruition.
But the sunshine is melting the earth and I feel energy reviving my mind and with it I am given the sweet reminder.
Be gentle with yourself. Time is slow and fast and precious. Spring doesn’t arrive in one day, it comes at first in the melting and gains momentum in the sunshine. New buds and leaves rise up and stretch and fan out and new grass will grow, disrupting what is matted together and there will be a day when you sit outside enjoying the sunshine with the biggest grin because spring has arrived. That transition always feels sudden after the fact.
As I slowly stretch myself from these newborn days, I want to be careful not to run faster than I am able (as I am inclined to do). Leisurely mental walks feel lovely and are just the pace for those swirling ideas to find their footing.
There is no rush because I have learned that my life is not a race. Knowing my greatest treasure lies within my four walls I have found peace within my simple days of staying at home. As my days are filled with messes and cries, I find space for small commitments that challenge and strengthen me. I embrace opportunities that fill and revitalize.
I feel that gentle shift; like Winter turns into Spring and new grass starts to grow.