Sprung

Over the next four days, we'll be experiencing quite a harmonic convergence, as it were. Tomorrow is the first day of Spring, followed by Benito Juarez's birthday and then Mothering Sunday (UK). Many years ago, in fact the day the war in Iraq started, we were in England and got to honor Robyn on Mothering Day. Many years ago, the year we started the Iraq war, we were in England for Mothering Day. We honored Robyn for her mothering. British Mother's day is understated, compared with ours. More a smile and an approving nod. I think we ought to celebrate this fine combination of holidays. Benito loved a party. Wasn't he the father of Mexican something?

Walker and I are ready to kayak. I've started to run (stumble, gasp) again. Jeff's going to tune up my bike. We sense the faintest stirrings of something. It's brown as far as you can see, but in the squishy cold muck underfoot roots stretch and grubs stir. Inside my head the chill fog clears. I stop counting cost and smell the air.

I'm going to go rouse Robyn. Go look out the window!