We're taking care of grandchildren, so we slept in their house, was up with them, spent the morning in their world. It's not a world I'm used to--the pure hungers, the newness, the lightness of their touch on the universe, the way, each second, they're figuring it all out.

All but the youngest are now in school. The school bus has come and gone. The children ran across the lawn, their knapsacks bouncing. The door of the big yellow bus opened, the kids climbed up, the driver waited until they were seated, then closed the doors, released the air brake and drove, slowly, back up the block, as we waved goodbye and were answered by a waving hand.

The moment could not have been improved.


Spring's brought the color back--the gaunt severity of winter, its white demands, the way it tempers the mind, makes us crazy or makes us philosophers; tests, breaks, or re-fashions our cliches--that time is over.  Now we live in the indulgence of spring, the richness winter erases from our minds, so it's always a surprise, a welcome back to a warmer world.

It's not warm at first; first, the color comes, a promise.  After the first surprise, the days it takes to get used to what we're seeing--the floating dogwoods; the white cloud of the apple and the pear, the shock of the cherry trees in full pale purple spate--after all this the first, hesitant warmth comes in on tiptoes like a careful cat.

The cat's not yet arrived.


(Away from home, I don't have access to my photos. When I get home, I'll add one.  Likewise, the daily poems, which I'll send tonight.
Allan DiBiase
4/15/2013 10:09:02 am

In the best of worlds, worlds we ant to provide, I think children come into their being both rambunctious and with the lightest of touch that is so much like the rebirth of spring. They are indeed, for a time, natural forces if chance and our best wishes will allow.


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