It’s spring, it’s spring, it’s spring. There was sunshine at 6:30 in the morning, and it lingered. It swept the lawn and broke in through the windows and sat on the couch and crawled into beds and woke everyone up. It was warm and it was substantial—you could actually feel it on your skin. Touches on your face and neck and hands. This wasn’t that watery, thin, almost-clear sun that makes you a little high in the winter. This was—is—spring sun, almost-summer sun, the kind that you have to push through, the kind that slows you right the hell down to the pace of pure and essential candy-like happiness.
Pure and essential candy-like happiness is one of the harbingers of spring. It would be the best of all possible horsemen of the apocalypse but that is probably asking too much of current world religion.
It’s spring and there is sunshine. There are tulips in the yard and they are loud. They’re the best color red there is, the kind you want to put in all caps, RED. That color. The color of spring except the real color of spring is when the trees are exploding everywhere, in white and purple and pink and green. The trees are fireworks, and the fireworks don’t stop they hang suspended as you pass slowly and it feels like this could be endless, spring. Especially after endless winter. But you hardly even remember what winter felt like any more, because spring, you guys.
It’s totally spring. And in thirty seconds it won’t be, any more, despite how slow the sun is and how pure and essential the candy-like happiness is and despite how the firework trees look like they’re going to hang there forever, and that is okay because blah blah the cycle of life and blah blah the nature of change and blah blah the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind and etc. You know all about that.
It doesn’t matter, though, what any of us know because there’s not a lot we can do about it. And there’s a comfort in that, a real comfort when it doesn’t send you spiraling into mad-style madness where you go totally mad because free will and also the simultaneous lack of it—and it is comforting how the series of tiny eternal compromises that consciousness is sends us rattling away from that idea whenever we get too close. Because we’re easily distractible, especially during spring spring spring spring spring.