I saw the first signs of Spring today.
The temperature read 34 degrees, but I didn’t believe it. The birds didn’t believe it, either. The moment I stepped out my door, their gleeful songs rang in a pitch reminiscent of Spring. Were they reminiscing, or was the new season already here? Perhaps the groundhog was mistaken.
I weaved down my wooden steps around to the front of house and was startled to spot not only one blade of green grass poking out of the frozen soil… but patches of them! When I finally stopped smiling back at those green patches, I ran back up my steps, flung the wreath of pines off my door, and pumped up my bike tires. This was not a day for a casual walk around historic downtown– this day was for road biking to the park.
I’d been dreaming about biking for the past few weeks. I’ve never dreamt of flying, but to me, biking is equivalent to flying. However, it wasn’t quite as simple today as I’d dreamed. I hadn’t straddled my bike in over four months, or so it seems, so it’s quite the miracle I remembered how to pedal. As soon as I did, I was exhausted after pumping my legs only a few blocks. I kept on pedaling uphill, and it gradually became easier. Before I knew it, I was flying again.
I walked briskly around the frozen lake and encountered a couple familiar faces along the way. I assumed they must also share a similar suspicion—that today was actually the first day of Spring. The sun wasn’t quite ready to show his face to the entire city, but we could feel him peeking around the corner. We weren’t wearing jackets or even light sweaters. Tree trunks seemed to be shedding their last layers of ice, thawing out all the way to their cores. I passed the naked thorny roses, which seemed tempted to bloom right then and there, before my gaze.
I was overcome with a surprising sense of motivation and inspiration to accomplish everything I possibly could throughout the day. However, I was still stuck in my chronic creativity-block until around eight o’clock p.m., when someone told me: “You simply can’t procrastinate anymore. Just stop it.” Just stop it. And so with those striking words of wisdom, I stopped.
I, along with the entire city, stayed up past midnight working on long-lost endeavors. I finally finished pricing and labeling my button jewelry so that I can take them to a local shop to sell. My friend, the owner of the shop, was busy busting out new psychedelic paintings. I began writing a few new songs. I researched how possible it is to start making a living off doing things I love to do—things that have purpose.
As I sleep, my dreams are filled dandelions—wildcrafting dandelions to eat and wear in my hair. My dreams take me to foreign horizons where Spring is emerging, and it is renewing. As someone said to me earlier, referring to something creativity-related, “It’s like the Dark Ages are over and we’ve entered the Enlightenment.” It must have the strong winds blowing in from the East.