High-school basketball play-offs. I join P to cheer for his son’s team, admiring the bursts of athleticism, gestures of sportsmanship, their focus on the flow of the game. I also quickly realize that I am not an action photographer, failing time after time to capture the moment as it passes. Some of my shots are better photos, but somehow I like the shape of this particular one. I drive home late, counting the exits to home.
It’s a week of hanging on to the thin edge of caught-up, hoping to make it through to next week, to my spring break. Temperatures in the single digits don’t make the word “spring” seem a remote possibility, and so I concentrate on “break,” and looking forward to having one. A time for music, for focusing in not out, and for having whatever kind of fun the weather and my imagination will allow. And so I drive home, juggling the to-do lists that will get me through to there.
We are searching for light wherever we can, evading the cold, hunching our shoulders up to ward off the invisible enemies that seep into every seam of our clothing wounding us with single-digit chill. Tomorrow is March, and March a spring month. The snowdrops should have bloomed already but there is yet no sign of them poking up through the frozen earth. We are waiting, stuck in a holding pattern between seasons.
I am driving home, it’s 5:00 and still light. There is an optimism in the air. Not that it’s warm, it isn’t. But there is light, and blue skies. And it has been a good day. Somehow, despite this seemingly endless winter of frigid temperatures and snowstorms always in the forecast, spring has snuck through. I am driving home with a smile.