I can recall so
many springs in years past, when it seemed to take forever for the trees to bud.
Every morning as April bled into May would find me looking out the windows,
wondering when was I ever going to see green on those bare, brown sticks
again?
In truth it
doesn’t take long, and that was brought home to me this
spring.
When we left
home for New Orleans on May 11th, there were no leaves anywhere, and
only a few bits of green to be seen on a few trees. Our flowers were all green
leaves, with only one or two tightly enfolded buds. I knew by the calendar that
it was spring, and we did have a young friend of ours come and mow our lawn
once, but despite that, it didn’t feel like spring.
When we
returned home 7 days later—just this past Sunday—the season of rebirth was in
full bloom.
The maple trees
across the street are covered in green, and one of them in red, leaves. Our
walnut tree, the last to get its leaves, has begun the process, and our flowers!
Oh, they are splendid this year. We have tulips and narcissi and daffodils, and
some hyacinths too.
It’s
interesting the way our own perception of things alters our reality, especially
when it comes to time. When we were kids, time seemed to stretch forever. The
summer break from school felt so much longer than just two months. Then as we
began to grow older, time moved a bit faster, or so it appeared. When we get to
the September of our lives, the days and weeks and months begin to travel at
light speed.
And all of that
is just perception.
Our perceptions
have a hand in how we view everything around us, especially time. For example,
driving to a destination always seems to take longer than driving home
from it. Anticipation of a vacation or an event always feels as if it lasts
longer than the sense we get after it’s over. As I write these words it is
Tuesday morning, and I have been in my house not even forty-eight hours yet. But
New Orleans seems so long ago already.
Usually when I
travel to RT, I’m so busy once I get there, I don`t have time to stop and smell
the roses. This time, I used my olfactory senses to the
extreme. I was delighted that the city I finally was able to do
that in was New Orleans—a city near the top of my bucket list.
We took a
double-decker bus tour, and we strolled down Decatur Street. [Well, my beloved
and our friend strolled, I “rolled” in the scooter I rented]. We toured the
French Market and we stopped at Cafe du Monde for beignets. I didn’t go down
Bourbon Street, because my husband told me it would be rough going, and it
wasn’t the same place it was in decades past.
I decided to
let my perception of that iconic stretch of pavement live.
There was a
difference, too, coming home this time which I know really is just a case of my
perceptions at work. Every other time before now, when we have gone away for a
week, my daughter has moved into our house for the duration, and the last few
times complete with her four puppies. Last year, when we went to Kansas City in
May, it was our Tuffy’s first experience of both of us being gone for a week. He
was still little, not yet six months old and handled the separation well—mostly
because he had his “sister” and his buddies at his house.
This time,
since she is in a larger place, she took our dog to her house and didn’t stay
here in at all. She stopped in every day to see to the cat. But that was
it.
And this time,
upon my return, it didn’t take me days to feel like I was back in my own home. I
had that sense almost immediately.
You might think
that’s all in my head and I would have to agree with you. Because that is, after
all, where my perceptions live.
Love,
Morgan
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