Beyond my eyelids, still unresponsive to the rays playing hide and seek with the window sheers – a parachute inflating and deflating with the undulating April breeze through the open window – a morning marched through the room, exclaiming, “it’s time! Wake up!
An orchestra played a familiar arrangement in the trees adjacent to the window, beautiful in its spontaneous call and reply, momentary silence, and eventual reprise.
It celebrated the return home; the renaissance.
The orchestra travelled from tree to tree; bush to bush (it would be foolish of me to think that they were playing only for me), like a mother tending to each of her children.
The glaciers had nearly all melted, leaving in their absence a system of roaring streams and miniature ponds, and tumbling stones.
The sweet, sweet aroma of the breeze that blows through the budding trees after Winter closes the door behind his dragging feet thawed my lungs, and for the first time today, I see.