It’s been a long week. Daylight Savings Time returned last Sunday morning, which made my 7:30 AM meeting Tuesday feel ridiculously early as I left the house in the dark. Today was my second day in a row not to get the dogs out for a walk in the morning. Last night I took them up the street in the cold, not adequately bundled up myself. Tonight, feeling equally compelled by guilt and habit, I saddled up Emmett (Quinn was distracted and less interested) and we headed out into the twilight.
I bundled up more than last night, including hat and gloves. Still, it was so much more temperate than most of the other moments of the long winter. I normally enjoy all the seasons with their individual integrity. As a Florida boy, Winter has been a long adult adventure in discovering the joys of playing in the snow and reading the Sunday paper in front of a crackling fire. But this has been one particularly dull, dumb Winter, drenched in far more rain than snow. The snow we did have was enough to be annoying but not necessarily fun.
On a mid-March evening, it’s cold but not frigid. Spring is clearly trying to return and many of us are anxiously waiting at the door, ready to welcome it back with open arms, even despite the pollen it will track in on its heels.
It took some motivation to head out the door this evening. I was tired and ready to relax. My annual order of running shoes (now just for walking) arrived (I go through a pair every six months) and I tried them on since they’re a new upgrade of the model I’ve been wearing for years. They fit fine, but Emmett spotted them on my feet and it was all over.
There we were, a few minutes later, traversing south one block and then heading west as usual toward the fading sunset. He was tugging like mad, dying to burn off steam at a faster clip. He spotted another dog in the distance and I picked up my pace to keep up. I was slightly annoyed with him, with the weather, with a touch of pain in my left foot and right knee, with the long week past. We proceeded the two blocks to the end of the street.
Our turnaround spot is our main drag, York Road. We passed the veterinarian’s office, duck pin bowling alley, salon, florist, yoga studio and pharmacy that comprise the one block that separates the two streets that make up our parallel loop. As we headed back toward home, my mood lightened as I observed the dark sky beyond the bare trees, two gray hues as similar as siblings. I mused about Spring and thought about my trip to California in a little over a week. I’m helping with a retreat in Los Angeles and staying on five extra days to see my sister in San Diego County and hopefully camp among the recent super-bloom of desert wildflowers for a couple of nights. I can’t wait.
I can’t wait to be warm outdoors. I can't wait to see my sister, brother-in-law and nephew. I can’t wait to return to the city of my birth. I hope to have time to drive by the house I was brought home to as a baby, one I have no memory of. When I return back to Maryland, it will barely be April and I’m hoping to return to Spring having fully moved back home.
But for the moment, I’ve simply returned to the 700 block of Murdock Road where I unhooked Emmett, grabbed my laptop, and implanted these thoughts on a virtual page of parchment before returning to the remaining routines of the evening.
The hope of Spring returning (and Summer after that) will be enough—more than enough—to undergird my gratitude for today.