Breath Of Spring in anticlimatic

Some spring plants were set up in the aisle at the hardware store today for fifty percent off. Daffodils and lilies and other pastel shaded flowers with pale green stalks and leaves. Fools Spring was just last week, though bitter winter returned with a vengeance a few days ago. I suspect these premature totems of spring were on sale in this dark blizzardy hour of our Spring Lord 2022 because of that timing. Jumped the gun a bit, we did. No exception here.

In truth I long for spring like nothing else, and not just the season. I need novel data; to get out of town; to reconnect with something gentle and merciful in this world. Something lost that I need returned to me. All my life, until recently, I knew a particular secret that I no longer remember. I know that it protected certain parts of my sensibilities fundamental to spiritual survival…and I suspect the gateway back is in the spring somewhere; around black pools of rain water on the asphalt under a cool humid June evening sky- when the lilacs are in peak bloom, and I have a peaceful moment to wander the world and admire the length of it all.

My friends all grew out of that magic, or at least away from it- away from me- which is fine, healthy, normal and to be expected for someone of my age. And I never connected much with anyone younger than me. Generational gaps and all. I’m not sure younger people would care much for the things I care for anyhow, I’m sure they have their own prerogatives. But heavens how I miss being around people that are interesting, insightful, worth knowing and respecting. It’s so much easier to find people when you’re young. Easier to trust people too.

Recently attempted a state test for licensing purposes and failed by 3 questions (out of 150 over 3 hours), so I have to up my game some. Next attempt is scheduled for next week, I have a study guide coming in the mail rushed delivery and I have decided to put my insanely indulgent weed addiction on hold for a while. I don’t think trying to study building code while blowing through an 8th of an ounce every couple days did me any favors. It’s a miracle I came that close to passing as it is, but I don’t want to take that test again. It was much worse than I thought. The lack of pot might awaken some long dormant dreams of mine, and my un-dulled wit might escape my control.

We shall see. Perhaps I’ll be leaning on this outlet more than usual in the days ahead.