It’s a warm spring day, the first one in months.
I’m so excited that I throw on my skimpiest cloths and run outside as fast as I can.
The sun hits my eyes. I’m stunned as I stumble off the porch
I hold a hand over my eyes and lean back and squint at the sun.
The sun is out, and it washes me with heat.
I’m sitting under a tree. I look through my knees at a bright sky. There’s a pale yellow swatch where the grey usually is. And the darker grey is now a pale blue.
There are wisps of clouds lingering about, but they are giving-in to the shop-owner’s demand to vacate the premises. Little by little the clouds breakup and fade.
The tree’s rustling leaves cast an ever changing dance overhead. I feel formless shadows take shape. As they come into being they become aware of each other. Excited that they are not alone they swarm. They mingle. They get to know each other. They laugh and cry and dissipate back into the formless.
It is hot and I am reclining in the shade.
My fingers brush through the scrub and dirt. I dig up small roots. The are wet. My fingers are muddied. I feel rough pebbles and press them under my finger tips. I sift moist soil through my fingers. The smell of living earth takes me back to simpler times. Green hills and waterslides.
I exhale and watch the sheep grazing on the next hill over. The herder, you can tell he is happy. There’s something in that gauzy shape and the way it stands there swaying with the grass. Yes, the herder must be happy.
The shaggy grass tickles behind my knees. I brush it away and there’s a lady bug sitting on my knee. It’s a red one. A dark red ladybug from childhood—back when ladybugs were vivid and bold. The ladybug opens its wing covers. I understand it. We convey our impressions of summer and the smell of dirt, of heat and thawing. She jumps into a current and is swept along.
I am in the shade watching ladybugs dance into sunlight.