We seem to have skipped over spring entirely and entered an early summer. My weekend in Bend's high desert got up to 102, and all that good dry air made me feel as though I could shoot sparks from my fingers, even if the elevation wore me out. Back in Portland I spent last night stretched to my full length, naked, on top of the sheets with a fan pointed at me, and still I felt as though someone had replaced my blood with a vat of warm molasses.
There's something to be said about the sudden burst of sunlight, though; I've caught other people running their hands lovingly through close-cropped hedges, enjoying the tingle of new growth on their fingers. I'm glad I'm not the only one.
This is a time for things to run full circle. For young things to develop and change, and for old things to sigh and settle.
I like that I'm one of the young things again. I feel like I'm reaching a level of peace within myself that I haven't felt before. I'm happy where I am, and it's strange to discover that I'd forgotten how that felt.
Whooooo-hoooooo.
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