To be covered in pink all over again is a recurring spectacle at Les Pierres, one to build on relentlessly by adding new dazzling eye-catchers every year, but no timeline can be accurately pointed to when it all starts. Not much room for sleep or indolence though, say too these birds, that always seem to respond more directly and fluently to its call, with an enviable ease, but I egocentrically tell myself I only notice them because I allowed them access to our stage to perform.
I wake up pretty early these days, even compared to my usual before-dawn-routine, not necessarily because of young Mec, who sleeps right next no me, although his avidity for his blanket and his inability to tend to his own need for cover certainly don’t help, nor does his sixth sense of noticing my every move, instantly translating in him moving too, but the lion share clearly is attributed to an early Spring moving in and the energy it brings about, firmly breaking with routines that have become dear friends but won’t be missed now deemed superfluous.
It’s kind of too bad that these colors of Spring don’t exactly match our physical well being, with Ivory only a couple of days behind on my back injury, thus cutting the normal way to my enlightenment that trusts him to take over my daily duties unsolicited, but there’s literally no reason to glum, just a slight hiccup in transitioning, nothing out of the ordinary, or is there?
By now, we’ve been staying at home so long, it would probably take somebody’s else’s word for us to get moving. I’m surprised how little all these restrictions have bothered us, our creative souls running all over the place all the time, but no actual reshuffling like we used to employ.
Love and gentleness, beauty and intelligence, when pink symbolizes the abundance it does right now, it must mean the burgeoning of passion and a promise for whatever’s to come. All I can do is give in to the arguteness of our Azalea Japonica, explaining this time around it’s not all about me and my pettiness.