Prevernal Wonders: Everyday Magic, Day 932

I love the prevernal season perhaps best of all: that space between the start of spring and before the leafing out of the big, green world. There’s such a brief series of moment between the last dregs of winter and first flush of spring, snow and daffodils, or sub-zero nights and thunderstorm afternoons. All show us that there is no line between seasons, just a two-steps-forward, four-steps-back, one-leap-forth, and a-crash-to-the-cold-ground dance.

Last night, I was acutely aware of this when we took a sunset walk across part of the field, up the hill, and through the woods, all the trees so dry that we were snapping off interfering branches as we went to make the trail more of a trail. Yet in the middle of this drought moment, there sky exhaled humidity, and for the first time in days, I didn’t feel so thirsty. The clouds cleared, the sky darkened, and over the horizon of time and weather, finally some rain arrived at 4 a.m.

Having woken myself up from a nightmare in which I was the entire KU men’s basketball team, rushing around my house to lock all the doors against impending danger, I sat up in time to see lightning in the distance. I stayed up, convincing myself I wasn’t fragmented in all those star basketball players but just one woman watching the world change to rain.

This morning, the deck and gravel drive held shallow puddles, the top of the car was wet, and the grass around our house was amazingly and suddenly greening up, as if someone crayoned a black-and-white drawing of this world while we slept. Cottonwood Mel’s branches are  full of buds for the leaves to come. The one lone  backyard daffodil, stunted but in bloom will soon have lots of company.

This prevernal time in Kansas is famous for bringing us all four seasons in a day, so I don’t hold onto what sweet, damp, and shining weather is given to us at this moment, but maybe that’s one of the great meanings of in-between times. Change is coming, following an old pattern but unfurling in its own mysterious way. It’s outside of my control, but at least, I can still keep going outside, the air — whatever temperature it is — remembering me to who I am beyond my ideas about myself, and helping me remember what’s real.

Up Late For No Good Reason: Everyday Magic, Day 842

It’s counter-intuitive to have trouble falling asleep right after daylight savings time has stolen an hour from us last weekend and seemingly again every morning since. Add to that the cold I either have or am getting over (I hope) and the drowse-inducing cold medicine I took, and it makes even less sense. But there I was, wide awake at 1:30 a.m., sitting in a pile of flannel sheets and quilts while adding up all my business expenses for my taxes. A person able to collapse into deep dreaming shouldn’t be able to add numbers, although I can’t vouch for any accuracy even when I’m wide awake.

For the last week, I’ve slipped and slid through various installments of insomnia, sometimes successful catching the sleep train before midnight, but often missing it and having to wait another 45 minutes for the next one, or the next. I could blame it on the birds, buy cialis online no prescription singing brightly all the daylight lately, or the coyotes, united in their high-pitched howls at my running-in-circles-barking dog, who stayed out too late last night in his mission to save us. Maybe it’s the sudden burst of spring weather and early greening specks in the field. Or the dizzy of March with its sudden call to go plant sometime, wash the car, and give the bathroom a good scrubbing.

Whatever it is, such late nights for no good reason land me in more surrealistic mornings when I feel a second or two behind life no matter the strength of the tea. Yet there is a certain vague sweetness is being shaken out of my habitual meanderings so that I can, like right now, sit on the porch in a thin jacket, listen to music I’ve never heard before, and write this to you.