Wait … it’s Spring?
Somehow it doesn’t seem the time to celebrate Earth’s new growth with so many souls in dire circumstances. That’s mental empathy. But it doesn’t mean having to sit in the dark either, like I feel like I’ve been doing these past couple of couple of days (try 9).
Rather, I shall open up the front door to the flowers on the porch and the light from the afternoon-cloud-covered sun.
I’ll pull down the storm door window to make it a screen so I can hear the occasional car passing by on the once bustling street that leads to the now closed 40+ main street shops.
Then I’ll prop open the back garden door to catch the birds and squirrels playing in the grass.
In the middle I’ll let loose Louis, my robot vacuum, to collect dust from the floors.
And somewhere in the middle I will play more than loudly the Rites of Spring, a mid-1980s post-hardcore band from Washington, D.C.
Side note: Mum, if you are reading this, don’t listen.
It’s not my kind of music, but neither is this year.
When done, I shall then do my best to get back to being a rebel rockstar at work.
Yes. I think that’ll do just for a much needed punk rock time out.
Hang in there. And, if you can, smile.
That goes for me as well …