Today is supposed to soar into the 60’s, with the accompanying wind show to be expected with such drastic temperature fluctuations. The wilderness of March on blustery display. It’s tempting to get a little excited when that first scent of spring is in the air, when the snow hastens its melt, and the trickle of water somewhere sounds like a little stream that might couple as the tiniest tinkling of bells from some swirling wind chimes far away. Apologies for running away with that sentence. The mind is somewhat scrambled these days.
There is a small park in downtown Albany that is closed from November to March 15. On Instagram I posted a photo of the sign indicating that the other day, when a thick carpet of snow and ice still covered the messy expanse, and I wondered whether March 15 would indeed free the sidewalk section of this park. So many of our messiest snowstorms happen now and into April, so I’m not sold. But I’m open, hopeful even, to being wrong. I simply hesitate to hype up spring too much too early. The world seems intent on proving humans wrong, especially in these last few years; we’ve all been beaten down to hope for that much.
On this morning, when the weather is unsure and uncertain, when it might be stormy or windy or sunny, 30 or 60, happy or sad, I turn within to find the quiet and the still. Whatever may churn outside, it’s what happens inside that will direct the journey of the day.
