My Front Step

I am just sitting on my front step having tea.

I have the third part of the six-part series on Therapy that I am writing, but I am not going to publish it today.

Right now, it is 18 degrees Celsius out – that’s 65 degrees Fahrenheit – and it is a beautiful spring evening. I am watching the kids in the neighbourhood driving by on their new scooters. Some scooters have blinking red lights on the handlebars. People walking by greet me and a neighbour stops for that first spring conversation.

I breathe in deeply. I am outside and the air is fresh and I can almost smell crocuses. I breathe in deeply again and I can just feel the fatigue of the past year seeping out of me.

Sitting on my front step, exhausted, I just do not know how I made it through this year. Now that spring is finally coming around again, I feel as though I could rest and sleep through all the next year, even though the neighbourhood around me is waking up to a new season.

I want to read springtime poetry and check to see if the scilla are coming out yet. I want to listen to women sing The Exultet for Easter vigils and listen to a child begin to ask the questions of the Haggadah for Passover. I want to have children rushing by me, their parents chasing after them, for three more hours, even though it’s dark. I want to sit out all night and listen to the night end with bird song and golden light in the sky.

I want to sit on my front step having tea a little while longer.