No Signs of Spring!

I drove over to Wilcox the other day. Someone told me about a Navajo artist that I needed to see. I did and she was a joy, a creative wonder, but that is not what is driving my thoughts.

It was so cold even though the sky was clear blue and the sun shining brightly but there was a cruel north wind that stole your strength as soon as you stepped outside. It made me think of you and how you loved Spring (yes, I capitalized it as you always said it must be). Today, I thought about it for the warmth. Even the word brought a bit of warmth.

Then as the miles rolled past in the dark night heading back home, I thought about all the connotations of Spring—rebirth, renewal, and starting over. That used to be something to look forward to in one of the “wishing your life away” kind of thoughts—wishing it was morning; wishing the bell would ring; wishing it was time to eat—all those little wishes for life to jump ahead and get to a juicy part. Of course, that ignores those wasted minutes. The ones, that at the end of our life we would love to have back.

Ah, but here I go again, down another philosophical rabbit hole. Back to thoughts of Spring.

They don’t mean the same to me as they always have in the past. I’ve lost my faith in Spring. I’ve lost my belief in renewal; in rebirth. There are no signs of Spring for me. No belief it will ever come. My Springs are gone, lost in time. I will never have that rush of emotion again; never feel that special touch again.

I drive through this winter night thinking of the smile I wore today when talking with Miss Begay, the artist. The fake smile that hides my emptiness.

No. There will be no Spring for me. Just this damn winter night that will never end.