spring tears and feeding the ravens

I woke up this morning with a day off and what happened? Preparing my breakfast, I literally bashed my head into a kitchen cupboard as I was getting up on a chair to reach something high up. Pulling a bag of frozen chocolate chips from the freezer, I iced my head while the tears flowed. Sometimes I think I'm moving too fast to catch up with myself and it really does take a bonk on the head to feel my own heart. After that, I stepped outside to walk, only to discover that it feels like the first day of spring. After months of cold and winter, the sun today shines warmth onto our heads. In spite of the beautiful, long-awaited for spring weather, I've been weepy for most of the day. Not dramatic tears; not tears that actually stem from anything in particular. But honest tears that come from somewhere. Does it matter that I dig for the source? I don't think so. They are, I suppose, tears of joy and tears of sadness and tears of winter gone and tears of spring come. I am reminded that so often I feel I need to be strong; to have something valuable to contribute, to be a warrior for the things I live for. And... it's equally important to feel weak sometimes.



One of my errands today required that I pull one of my paintings from its frame and bring it to a shop to be scanned. It's one of my own paintings; of a joyous woman feeding the ravens. She is explosive and energetic; the opposite of how I feel today. But she is inside me somewhere, or I would not have been able to paint her. And she reminds me of home. Home is a city of ravens. On this first teary-eyed day of spring, I invite the woman who feeds the ravens to visit again. For today I am not on anyone's schedule but my own.