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Exuberance
Mar. 5th, 2004 03:09 pmIs it possible to pinpoint the moment when seasons change? At 10:30 I stood waiting for the downtown bus with my knuckles freezing on the umbrella handle. At 1 p.m. as I stepped off the return bus, the sun came out and suddenly: warmth. Spring.
I plopped my bag on the sidewalk and undid my jacket.
An old man driving down the street waved at me through his open window. A long-haired fellow in shirt sleeves smiled as he darted past, headed for the park. I turned and did the same, like a lover running to meet his beloved.
Old Man Willow
I have learned to love winter. I suppose one does the same with a trusted lover. I have never had one who stayed through the hard times, but some say the love for one's children is even stronger.
When you commit yourself to someone, you love them no matter what. As much as their downsides annoy you, you begin to embrace the whole person. You learn patience and amusement. You grow.
When you love someone and the hard times wash over, their best smiles and laughter make you feel giddy and teary-eyed all at once.
I strode toward the river. Clouds streamed overhead: skittering dappled ones and hulking, glowing monsters. Floods of light washed across the pond, flickering like an old movie. I tried to capture it in sequential frames, but whether under shadow or sunlight, my camera saw the rippled water dazzling in glory. The gentle Eramosa River was swollen as I have ever seen it. My heart felt just as full. I stayed for a while, revelling in the kind breath of wind and sun on my face.
Turning home, I realized my eyes were wet with excitement.
Strolling up Kingsmill Avenue, I passed another old man standing on his front walk surveying the gutter. A small flood had melted its way under the piles of ploughed snow, streaming freely toward the river.
He smiled cheerfully and said, "It's good to see the water moving."
We all have our peculiar little pleasures.
( +3 )
I plopped my bag on the sidewalk and undid my jacket.
An old man driving down the street waved at me through his open window. A long-haired fellow in shirt sleeves smiled as he darted past, headed for the park. I turned and did the same, like a lover running to meet his beloved.
Old Man Willow
I have learned to love winter. I suppose one does the same with a trusted lover. I have never had one who stayed through the hard times, but some say the love for one's children is even stronger.
When you commit yourself to someone, you love them no matter what. As much as their downsides annoy you, you begin to embrace the whole person. You learn patience and amusement. You grow.
When you love someone and the hard times wash over, their best smiles and laughter make you feel giddy and teary-eyed all at once.
I strode toward the river. Clouds streamed overhead: skittering dappled ones and hulking, glowing monsters. Floods of light washed across the pond, flickering like an old movie. I tried to capture it in sequential frames, but whether under shadow or sunlight, my camera saw the rippled water dazzling in glory. The gentle Eramosa River was swollen as I have ever seen it. My heart felt just as full. I stayed for a while, revelling in the kind breath of wind and sun on my face.
Turning home, I realized my eyes were wet with excitement.
Strolling up Kingsmill Avenue, I passed another old man standing on his front walk surveying the gutter. A small flood had melted its way under the piles of ploughed snow, streaming freely toward the river.
He smiled cheerfully and said, "It's good to see the water moving."
We all have our peculiar little pleasures.
( +3 )
