Spring

There are many things I love about our apartment, but one of them is the huge old cherry tree we have in our cozy backyard. For awhile now there have been pink buds, but today it happened: they burst into heavy white bloom. The bulbs my mom buried in our ceramic pots are sprouting tulips; our onions are ready for harvesting.

I’ve looked forward this year to spring more than any year I can remember. In college I was a fall person: Virginia falls are glorious. Brilliant leaves, crisp air for weeks on end. In med school I was a winter person: unforgettable New England snows and festive lights.

But this year it’s the spring. Winters here are dreary: cold, wet, sludgy. I’m ready for sun, for outdoor walks and mild breezes. I’m ready to wear skirts and dresses rather than the pants I can’t fit into anymore. For the first time we own plants to watch wake up; we have a place to feed birds for our cats’ entertainment.

And perhaps spring seems more real because of all the changes going on inside. In the mornings I wake up and feel my belly, and think something strange is happening. There’s a taut sloping that’s entirely foreign. I’m fascinated by how my bellybutton is slowly becoming shallower, as if some invisible force is pushing against it from the other side. I imagine my tummy bursting into bloom one day: skin cracking, muscle fibers parting.

Spring is new life and mysterious changes, the promise of fullness. It’s the birds flocking to our tree, D’s hand in mine as we walk in parks, my blooming belly. Time for savoring.

Week Twenty