I was finally able to take a walk Monday afternoon around my neighborhood. The sun was bright, the sky a robin’s-egg blue, temps in the mid ’50s, and my thumb had healed enough so that I could swing both arms without the pain of gravity’s pull on a swollen finger.
The snow from a recent storm and subsequent snow showers had mostly melted, sending water trickling through storm drains. A mourning dove cooed plaintively from a nearby rooftop. As I walked, the too-tight muscles in my back began to relax. Annoying chatter in my mind quieted, and I focused on what I saw, heard, smelled . . .
Hints of green amidst bleached grass.
A watchful dog’s bark.
A power drill’s whine.
A passerby’s hello.
Tiny buds on tree branch tips.
Hockey sticks slap slap slapping.
Overhead a private plane’s purr.
Wood smoke’s tang.
Spring can’t come too soon.
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