In the post holiday hopes of organizing (yet again) and purging (ditto) my workroom, I found a crumpled sheet of notebook paper. It is two years old and I imagine that I tucked it away for safe keeping. Sometimes when reading my old scratchings I try to remember who I was that day; but this one was vivid and I remember so clearly...
"I awoke amid the morning chaos. School cancellations, phones ringing, alarm clocks, all rudely interrupting my last precious moments of sleep.
I rose to wet snow. Beautiful, spring snow. The sky monotone; no separation of cloud and sky, a grey blanket covering the white.
It's Holy Thursday. I drive to work. I note the trees heavy with snow, heavy yet accepting of the gift they have been given. One last burden before Easter, one last reminder of how we need to wait for spring, for the right time to begin again.
I drive cautiously, feeling as I do every time I take the wheel, my father's presence. "Buckle up, Slow down, Is that a rolling stop?" I ask him aloud to look. Isn't it beautiful?
In the short time I take to get to the plant, the coulds have begun to break. Pale blue peeking through, the sun straining against the grey to warm us below.
Easter and Spring will be here soon."
