April showers bring May … showers?
It remains to be seen, but it’s now the last week of April, and I’ve been dashing back and forth from car to house to school to work with my papers over my head and the spring rains soaking through my boots.
The daily struggle in my house is getting everyone into appropriate clothing for the rain, and here I am, the worst example of all. I don’t like to fidget with rain jackets or hoods that don’t lay quite right. I’m not a fan of that swish swish noise, and the spiritless texture of a raincoat loses every time to the naturally beautiful protection of a thick wool pea coat or cardigan and brimmed cap. I’m quite sure I was Scottish in some lifetime.
And every day, social media “memories” are mocking me, turning up crisp photos of raised garden beds already prepared and planted. This year, I am thoroughly enjoying the lush edible plants I bedded before our unseasonably (unreasonably?) harsh winter, but still they rise, thriving in this deluge of precipitation. I am thoroughly enjoying them through my window — and letting them largely go to flower while the weeds grow all around.
Why is one season in life so different than the next sometimes? I know people (though not many) that truly blossom under the structure of the seasons. They sow order and reap contentedness year after year.
But that’s not me. While each new interval brings some elements of seasons past, there is almost always new passion, something bubbling under the surface that has been dormant until just the right conditions. It’s the necessary maintenance that fails under this trajectory, this not quite seasonal take on life.
So the weeds left uncovered last year and the incessant rain may be slowing my pilgrimage into the dirt this year, but if I stand at just the right angle inside my kitchen all I can see is towering broccoli, flowering collard greens and the tight purple buds of garden chives flourishing in the cool spring rain.